


I'll Keep You

by feistymuffin



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Description of previous deaths, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Violence, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 15:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7981351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feistymuffin/pseuds/feistymuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack meets Mark, which is already a problem in and of itself. But then Jack loses his job and Mark presents him with an opportunity. How is Jack supposed to say no to that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Keep You

**Author's Note:**

> A fair heads up that the feelings are rampant in this one, and there are times when Mark doesn't emote very well and resorts to anger or denial. No abuse whatsoever, but he does do some things that would be considered controlling, mean or inappropriate
> 
>  
> 
> Go to end notes for details about the edit (03/19/17)

For the third time that week, Jack pauses as he walks past the pet store on his way to work. The familiar yearning takes hold of him as he peers in the store window at the tiny, furry faces inside. The pen of current puppies explodes with excitement at his presence, and they all clamber at the window pane with jumpy eagerness. Well, all but one. There's a grey and black puppy curled up in the corner, dead to the world and snoozing away. Jack's heart melts as his eyes take in the little creatures.

It's been years since he's had a pet, since he left home, and just recently he's been considering getting a new one. It's not because he's lonely, he tells himself firmly as he moves back onto the sidewalk, back towards work. It's just because he misses having a dog, someone loyal who doesn't cheat on you with your coworker.

Jack frowns. So much for not thinking about Tanya. Shaking himself, Jack strides more fervently down the street. _She isn't worth thinking about. Just stop it, she isn't worth thinking about._

With vivid clarity Jack recalls Tanya's face as he confronts her with what his coworker, Alan, confessed to him late last month. Her hazel eyes watered on cue. Her mouth was a moue of sadness. Her eyebrows were tilted in distress. But Jack knows when she's really upset. She pleaded for him to stay with her, to see past her mistake and maybe they could work on things. If it was once, Jack might have considered it. Alan had made it clear how often it had happened--it was an affair.

_Almost a year, down the drain,_ Jack thinks darkly as he enters the elevator in his office building.

A tall blond man hurries into the building, running breakneck for the elevator. He just barely makes it. "Well, you look pleased," Felix greets, taking in Jack's stormy expression as he squeezes through the closing doors at the last second. He adjusts his satchel across his shoulder and gives Jack a once-over, looking concerned. "Jeez, you alright?"

Jack shrugs uneasily, shuffling his feet. "Yeah, 'm fine," he grunts. "Just been thinkin'."

Felix raises his eyebrows. "What about? Nothing good, I'll bet."

"About Tanya," Jack admits, finally meeting his friend and coworker's eyes.

"Ah, that hippie devil woman," Felix acknowledges, nodding. "Yeah. She sucked."

Jack snorts, unable to help himself. "Hippie devil woman" put a pretty good pin on Tanya. An art major and budding sculptor, her attitude was somewhat of a crap shoot at any given moment, and her personal taste could be described as kitschy at best. She wore bright and elaborate outfits, scowled at anyone under the sun who even thought about interrupting her creative outbursts, which were frightening enough themselves, and was majorly considered a menace to the human race by most of Jack's friends. No, scratch that. All of Jack's friends. Which was basically Felix.

"Yeah, well, still doesn't change the fact that she screwed me over," Jack laments. "A year, dude."

"A year is nothing, Jackaboy," Felix informs him, exiting the elevator as it opens onto their floor. Jack follows. "Marzia and I have been together for years, and before her I was with a girl for almost three years. I don't regret any of it, because in the end it brought me around to Marzia."

"That's all well and good," Jack muses, "but I don't have that next person yet to make everythin' smooth and easy again. Hard to be optimistic for somethin' that hasn't even happened yet." They reach their desks, adjacent to one another, and begin setting up for the morning. 

Felix hums an understanding sort of sound. "I guess that's true," he says. "Well, Marzia said she's got a few people she can set you up with. Interested?"

Jack tries his best not to grimace, but he can't stop his mouth from quirking. "Uh, no. Really appreciate it, but no. I barely trust myself to make good decisions for datin' prospects, how can I trust Marzia when she's picked you?" Jack smirks when Felix whips his head around, scowling.

"Very funny, Jack," Felix gripes, his accent thick. "Seriously, though. She and I know a few people from that yoga class she made me do with her." Felix's face is briefly pained, likely in memory of said class, but then he perks again. "You'd like the one girl, she was a real charmer."

"Eh, I'd rather not," Jack deflects, fiddling with his stapler as his computer turns on. "I hardly know if I'm even in the market again. Tanya wasn't so long ago that I'm sure I'm comfortable movin' on yet."

Felix glowers at him. "Jack," he scolds. "I'm serious. Tanya sucked balls, and not in the fun way. Moving on from her as quick as possible would be a godsend." 

"And yet here we are," Jack muses, chuckling. "Wishin' for it won't make me budge any faster."

"C'mon," Felix urges, "come out with us tonight then. We're just going for dinner with some old school friends. No pressure, we'll just bring you along. They're all really cool, and most of them are taken."

"Most of them?" Jack parrots, eyebrow quirked. 

Felix grins. "You think you're the only single person in the city?" He clasps his hands in front of him and drops from his chair to kneel on the floor. "Please, Jack. If you get any more antisocial Marzia threatened to intervene. I'm much less pressuring than she is. Just cave before we both regret it."

Jack groans, covering his face with both hands. "Ugh, Marzia is a terrible woman, and you're a terrible man. Fine, I'll go out tonight. Talk about twistin' my arm."

Felix jumps to his feet and drags Jack up from his chair and into a hug. Laughing, Jack slaps him on the back and disentangles himself. "Alright, alright," he chortles. "So, when and where?"

 

Two minutes to seven Jack is standing inside the foyer of The Barrel, twiddling his thumbs nervously and trying his best not to bounce in place. Felix had said seven, right? Was he the only one here early? He's about to go and ask the hostess--again--if she has anything for a Kjellberg party when the door behind him tinkles with the admission of more patrons.

Jack relaxes when he sees Felix and Marzia step over the threshold, a small herd of people following behind them. "There you are," Jack sighs, grinning. "Thought I might be too early."

Felix pats him on the arm as he progresses into the foyer, which is slowly filling with people, almost all of whom Jack doesn't know. "Nah, we carpooled, so we're a bit later than expected."

The hostess smiles pleasantly behind her podium at them. "For how many?"

Pausing, Felix turns and does a quick headcount. "Ah, for six, please."

With a nod the hostess grabs the correct amount of menus and leads the way to the booth area along the far wall, leaving the party to follow. At the table, she sets the menus down and scurries off while Felix and the others file into the booth. Jack hesitates for a second before taking the outside seat of the left side, putting him right next to a grinning stranger with thick brown facial hair and mischievous eyes. 

A waitress approaches the table before Jack can even ask for introductions. "Can I get y'all some drinks?" She looks expectantly at Jack.

"Oh," Jack startles, "uh, a Guinness, please."

Jack's eyes drift to the man to his left as he orders. "Miller Lite," the man beside him requests, and the rotund man on Jack's neighbour's other side adds, "I'll have the same." Marzia asks for a strawberry daiquiri, Felix for a Heineken, and then Jack looks at the man across him.

It's like a punch to the gut, suddenly being confronted with such a ridiculously handsome man. His face, scruffy with a couple day's worth of styled dark beard growth, holds a wide smiling mouth with perfect teeth, a large but attractively-shaped nose perching a pair of glasses, and a set of almond-shaped liquid brown eyes that glitter with humour. With a wide chin, long face and strong jaw, his visage is compellingly masculine. His forearms are lain out on the tabletop, with skin the colour of pale bronze and raised veins for miles. His chest is muscled and broad, his shoulders broader, and the shade of his t-shirt (coral pink) compliments the colour scheme of his body so well that Jack is wondering if he needs to wipe any drool off his chin.

"Water for me," the brunet says, his voice rich, hinting at the very real possibility of baritone depths. Jack maybe almost wets himself a little.

The waitress finishes jotting down the orders, smiles and says, "I'll be back with those right away." She leaves the table and Jack immediately looks imploringly at Felix, hoping the desperation in his face will translate into his sudden need to be anywhere else.

Felix glances at him, then says to the table, "Well! Everybody here knows everyone except Jack, my good friend and coworker. Everyone, this is Jack."

The man beside him offers a hand for him to shake. "Wade," he introduces himself. Jack takes his hand and gives it a quick shake. Felix gestures to the man on Wade's left. "This is Bob," he says, and Bob waves with a smile. Jack gives him a nod. "And this is Mark," Felix adds, throwing an arm around Mark's shoulders and giving him a shake. "Mark, who thought he was too good to come out tonight."

Mark laughs, a rolling chuckle that Jack swears he feels vibrating in his chest. "Nothing like that," Mark argues. "I had a project due, it couldn't wait. You're just lucky I'm brilliant and got it done in time."

"Truly, I am lucky," Felix drawls. "Whatever could I do without you, dear Markimoo?"

Mark shoves him, a saccharine grin on his face. Then he turns to face Jack, whose heart blips unevenly before settling into an abnormally fast rhythm. "It's nice to meet you," Mark tells him, holding out a hand across the table.

Jerkily Jack wipes his damp palms on his jeans, then tentatively grasps Mark's large hand in his slimmer one. Mark grips him hard enough that Jack feels it in his thighs, and when he lets go it's a distinct absence.

_Shit._

"Nice to meet you all," Jack gets out, then swallows.

"Jesus, Felix, what did you tell him we were like?" Wade jokes. "He's practically itching to get out of here."

"No, I wasn't--" Jack intercedes, hesitating as he takes a menu, but Felix cuts him off by laughing.

Bob leans forward to see Jack across Wade. "He's teasing," Bob offers, smiling. "Wade has a unique trait of enjoying the social discomfort of others."

"Well I bet you're just a treat at parties," Jack deadpans.

Everyone laughs, but Jack only hears Mark's somehow appealing guffaw.

_Shit shit shit._

They've been silent for a handful of moments, each perusing their menu, when the waitress returns with their drinks on a large platter, and she hands them out accordingly. Gratefully Jack gulps several mouthfuls of his beer. _Liquid courage, don't fail me now,_ Jack pleads internally.

"What will everyone have?" the waitress asks cheerily, pen and pad at the ready.

"Ill have the, uh, sirloin bacon burger," Jack picks at random, setting his menu down. "With fries and coleslaw."

The waitress nods and moves on to Wade, then Bob, and all the way around to Mark at the other end. Jack doesn't linger on the way Mark's mouth moves. He doesn't.

Thankfully he's distracted by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He fishes it out to check, seeing a message from Felix. _Well???_

Glancing up abruptly, Felix catches his eye and gives him a significant look before turning away as Bob asks him a question. Hurriedly Jack types, _I hate you so much,_ and pockets his phone again after sending it.

"So, Jack," Wade begins, and dread drops into Jack's stomach like a rock. He does not like that tone. "What do you do? You work with Felix, but are you a system analyst like him?"

"Nah," Jack replies, "I'm just a lowly programmer. I fix bugs and that sort of thing."

"Still, that's pretty interesting," Bob says. "Mark likes programming. Don't you, Mark?"

Jack finds Mark's eyes with his, and is met with another beatific smile. "Yeah, I used to program all the time," Mark tells him. "Not so much lately, though. Been getting too busy with work."

"What do you do?" Jack queries, smothering the flutter in his chest as Mark doesn't immediately look away.

"Mark is a writer," Marzia states like a proud mom. "He's recently gotten some more of his work published."

Mark's face reddens and he rubs at his neck. "C'mon, Marzia," he complains, but he's smiling. "It was just an article, nothing big."

"An article in National Geographic," Felix insists. "That's pretty good."

"Wow," Jack whistles. "That is impressive. What did you write about?"

"Bumblebees," Mark responds wryly. "Despite them being a popular topic, they still need to be putting out information on them. My article was already written and National Geographic just happened to read it. They offered to add it to their next issue and I said yes, of course."

"I guess we're both fixin' bugs," Jack jokes. He's rewarded with Mark's bubbling laughter. "So you all met in school?"

"Well, Felix met Bob in a class in university, but Bob, Wade and Mark have known each other for years," Marzia explains. "They grew up together in Cincinnati."

Jack nods. "I've only been in America for the past year or so, which means I really ought to have more friends than I do, but I don't. It's pretty much Felix, and Ta--" Abruptly Jack cuts himself off, frowning at himself for even contemplating bringing up Tanya. "It's pretty much just Felix."

He would be too lucky for no one to notice his slip-up, though. He watches Wade process the information with a glint in his eye. He's proven right when Wade prompts, "No girlfriend?"

"Nope." Jack tries not to sound clipped but he doesn't think he succeeds. He hides in his Guinness as he empties his glass.

Wade looks over and has some kind of silent conversation with a straight-faced Mark. Jack forces himself to look down at his lap. _Not your business, not your business,_ he tells himself over and over.

Felix clears his throat loudly, making Jack glance up. Wade is glaring at Mark now, who isn't even looking in his direction. Mark folds his arms across his chest and looks away from the table, making Jack really wish he hadn't. He obsessively traces the lines of Mark's muscles with his eyes, from collarbone to elbow. Once he catches himself Jack looks away, but Felix saw anyway. He grins knowingly.

"What do you do for work, Bob?" Jack asks suddenly, grasping at conversational straws.

"Oh, I'm a web designer," he says. "I work by commission, but occasionally I like to do a pro-bono piece to get my good karma in."

"That's nice of you," Jack comments, wincing internally. What a stupid thing to say. "Do you enjoy it? Did you go to school for it?"

"Yes and yes," Bob chuckles. "My basic programming course in university is where I met Felix."

Jack swallows, resolutely ignoring the moving Mark-shaped blur in his peripherals. "That's pretty neat," he says, wanting nothing more than to punch himself in the face.

"Wade here is a video game tester," Marzia offers as a social life preserver. Jack sends her a grateful look. She smiles.

"Yeah, it's pretty much the best job ever," Wade preens, a smirk curving his mouth. 

"Jealous," Jack mutters, faux pouting.

Wade laughs. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get over it eventually." Jack scowls at him, making him laugh harder.

"Have you got any family?" Mark abruptly asks, drawing Jack's attention. He avoids staring at Mark's chest, but that leaves his face which is just as dangerous. Jack makes eye contact and despite the uneasy expression Mark is wearing, he still feels his insides melt. "You're from Ireland, right?"

"Yes," Jack falters, "from a small town not far from Dublin. I've got two brothers and two sisters, all older." He doesn't mention why he left.

"No family in America, though?" Bob asks.

Jack is shaking his head before Bob's finished speaking. "None," he says. "My sisters and brothers have... said they'll visit, but... they, ah, haven't had the chance yet."

"Mark has an older brother," Felix says, nonchalant. Jack sends him a warning look that he ignores.

"They're a pain, aren't they?" Jack chuckles, glancing at Mark again. "Seamus once sat on me for three hours because I ate some of his favourite cereal. He ended up dislocatin' my shoulder."

The table laughs, as they're meant to, but Jack sees the forced note of Mark's amusement. His smile no longer reaches his eyes, and as soon as the merriment is gone so is Mark's fake grin. Jack can't help but think that the change in his mood is his doing, somehow.

The waitress returns with her arms laden with food. She sets out a few plates and comes back for a second trip with the rest of it. She assures that everyone got the correct thing, offers to replace Jack's already-finished Guinness (which he declines), smiles and moves away.

Instead of looking at anyone, Jack stares at his plate and feels the complete lack of appetite that hinders him. Wearily he cuts the burger in half and begins the task of eating most of his meal.

Jack doesn't look up from his plate until he's finished most of his burger and about half his fries. He sees Felix and Marzia with their heads together, whispering about something. Bob and Wade are engrossed in eating. Mark is on his phone, his food completely gone.

"Are you still hungry?" Jack asks him quietly, making Mark look up. Jack motions to his partially eaten plate. "I can't quite finish, if you wanted some of mine."

Mark studies him for a moment before nodding, a tiny smile on his lips. "Yeah, thanks," he says, reaching to pull Jack's plate towards him. He digs into the fries and goes back to his phone. Seeing the dismissal as it is, Jack peers down at his fingers in his lap. His phone buzzes again.

It's Marzia. _Talk to him!!!_

_Like hell I am. Look how much he DOESN'T want to talk to me,_ Jack replies, trying to shake off the feeling of pre-rejection.

Jack feels a sharp pain in his shin, making him cry out and drawing the attention of everyone. He covers it with an awkward cough, murmurs, "Sorry, leg cramp," and once everyone is looking away except Marzia he glares at her.

_Why did you kick me?!_ Jack types furiously.

_Because you're being stupid,_ she replies, and when he looks up she sticks her tongue out at him. _Flirt with him!_

Jack stops the growl before it can escape his throat, pocketing his phone without replying. He glances up at Mark to see he's polishing off Jack's food nicely, but he's still distracted by his phone and turned away from the table and towards the interior of the restaurant. Yeah, that body language just screams "talk to me".

Uneasily, Jack takes a deep breath and stands, extracting his wallet from his back pocket. "Well," he says, "I better get goin'. It was nice to meet everyone." Fishing into his wallet, Jack pulls out two tens, a five and some change, dropping it onto the table. "Have a nice night, guys," he says, waving. 

He ignores the "Jack?" that Felix calls out, and the buzzing in his pocket. Outside, he mounts his bike, fastens his helmet and pedals out of the parking lot like the devil's on his heels. 

Opening the front door to his dismal apartment, Jack sees his sparsely furnished living room. Lacking even a lame, masculine sort of touch to the place, the entire space consists of an off-black couch, a coffee table that has definitely seen better days and his TV and many gaming consoles. Jack hefts his bike into the empty dining room and sets it down with its kickstand. After locking the door and hunting a water bottle from the fridge, Jack plops onto the couch and chugs half the bottle in one breath. Finally, he looks at his phone.

Felix called him twice and sent him a myriad of texts. Marzia called once and texted him once to ask if he was okay. He ignores them all and messages Felix.

_You're some kind of idiot, trying to set me up with your STRAIGHT friend._

_If you knew the shit Mark did in college you would not be calling him straight, my man,_ Felix replies rapid-fire. 

_My point stands. He's clearly uninterested,_ Jack types, and tries not to let his pathetic heart tremble at the idea of never seeing the beautiful writer again.

_Listen, I don't know what his problem is but Mark is not a straight-laced, stuck up kind of guy,_ Felix messages. _He's really laid back, very loyal, kind and compassionate to a fault. He doesn't snub people._

Jack grunts, unimpressed. _Yet here I am, snubbed. He was so fucking done with my company. He was glued to his phone to avoid interacting with me._

_Okay, so he was rude. That's not the worst thing to happen. Maybe he just felt sick._

_Sick of me, yeah. Felix, he only got weird after everyone tried to shove us together. Did you think you were subtle? Because you were not._

_Mark could've just been uncomfortable because of the situation, not because of you,_ Felix reasons.

_I'm not having this conversation with you. Good night._ Jack shoves his phone deep into his pocket and ignores it for the rest of the evening.

 

The next day at work, Felix practically grovels to get Jack to see his friends again. 

"Quit it, Felix," Jack finally snaps, having to stop coding so he can direct his attention at his friend. "I'm not seein' him, or them, again. I won't be where I'm not wanted." 

Felix groans. "If you would just listen to me, I--"

"Delivery for Jack McLoughlin?" calls an unfamiliar voice. Jack looks up, ignoring Felix to beckon the source of the voice, a delivery man, to his desk. "You Jack McLoughlin?"

"Yes, that's me," Jack confirms, sending Felix a warning look to shut the hell up. 

Without so much as a how-do-you-do, the delivery man drops a bouquet of yellow roses on Jack's desk and proffers a clipboard with a form on it. "Sign here," the delivery man says, bored. Jack signs on the line and the delivery man gives a one hundred percent fake smile and leaves.

Jack stares at the bouquet, the perfume of the roses wafting in his immediate vicinity. Yellow means... friendship, right? He gingerly picks up the bouquet and lifts it to his face, smelling the aromatic flowers. He notices the card attached to the bouquet and opens it. 

_Sorry -M_

"After I'm done bein' silly and smellin' these gorgeous roses," Jack says mildly, "I'm comin' over there to kick your ass."

"Now, who's not wanted?" Felix asks with mock curiosity. "Funny, I remember a guy--about your height--saying something like 'I'm not wanted'. So weird, right?"

Jack stuffs his face into the flowers, muttering, "Fock you."

"Oh, come on," Felix sighs, exasperated. "It's obvious he's got some kind of interest in you. He sent you flowers, as an apology! Clearly he is boyfriend material."

Pulling back and setting the bouquet down gently on his desk, Jack scowls at Felix. "First of all, don't give me that crap. He's not even gay and you know it. Second of all, he should be apologizin'. He was rude. Thirdly," Jack swallows his pride, "yellow roses only mean friendship. He's givin' me the necessary apology while not gettin' himself into anythin'."

Felix hesitates, long enough that Jack turns away and sits back in his desk chair. "Just, never mind," Jack says, forlorn. "They're an apology, nothin' else."

"No, hey, it's not--" Felix begins.

"It's not anythin', Felix," Jack grumps. "Mark apologized. His hands are clean."

Felix's brow pulls down into a hard look, but Jack ignores him. He doesn't look over when he hears Felix muttering to himself, or when he hears him make a phone call. Jack focuses only on his coding. If his hands brush the yellow roses at his elbow a few times a minute, who's there to even see?

At lunch, Jack opts to stay in and eat the food that he packed at home instead of going out with Felix. It takes a couple minutes of convincing, but finally Felix goes without him. He eats his turkey sandwich and baby carrots in record time, and then distracts himself further with getting ahead on his workload. 

Fifteen minutes before his lunch break is over, a shadow falls across his desk. Without looking up, Jack muses, "Finally found your way back, huh? About time. I thought you were goin' to be late."

"Did you like the flowers?" a hopeful voice asks him, and Jack nearly jumps out of his skin. Looking up, Jack sees that Mark is standing over him, hands in his pockets and his expression a concerned frown.

"I, uh," Jack says intelligently. He's staring at Mark, drinking in the sight of his ruffled hair, the curve of his lips, his dreamy eyes. Jesus, did he just think Mark is dreamy? Quickly he looks away to his computer. "Yes, they're very pretty. Thank you."

"Listen," Mark murmurs, placing a hand on the back of Jack's desk chair and spinning him to face the writer. "I know I made you uncomfortable last night, and I'm sorry. But," he laughs, shaking his head slightly, "I'm sure you could see what the others were trying to do."

_Oh, yes,_ Jack thinks dryly, _I sure could._ "Yeah," he says, attempting a laugh. It sounds false even to him. "I mean, here I was tellin' Felix I didn't want any setups and he still tries throwin' me at his poor college friend." Jack picks up the flowers, fiddling with one rose's petals. "You didn't need to give me anything, though. I understand where you're comin' from."

Mark nods, standing straight and releasing his grip on Jack's chair. "Still, I wanted to apologize, and Felix told me you liked flowers. Yellow roses symbolize friendship," he tells Jack with a smile.

Jack smothers his sad sigh, instead plastering a grin on his face. "Do they? That's cool. I guess it's like the florist equivalent of "no homo"."

The semi-quiet of the office fills with Mark's laughter, and Jack pretends he doesn't revel in the sound. "They should advertise that," Mark chuckles. 

"Anyway," Jack says after a short pause, looking away, "I, ah, better get back to doin' some work. Thanks for... stoppin' by." He feels Mark hesitate, but after a moment he turns away and disappears into the elevator. Jack breathes a sigh of relief, staring down at the roses. It's a shame they won't last forever.

Jack is unsurprised when Felix returns from lunch in a hell of a bad mood. He stops at Jack's desk and slams his fist down onto it, startling the Irishman.

"What," Felix rages in a hushed voice, "do you think you are _doing_ , Seán McLoughlin?"

"Don't call me that," Jack snaps. "And I'm not doin' anything. I'm workin'."

Felix snorts. "Don't give me that bullshit, you are trying to push Mark away just when he tries to get on your good side."

"Mark is on my good side," Jack shrugs, "but he's also straight, and not interested in what I have to offer besides a nice friendship. Which I don't think I could honestly handle, so I thanked him and he left."

Clasping his hands together in front of him, Felix nods. "And in doing so, you made Mark think you hate him. Very clever, now he won't ever pursue you."

"He wasn't goin' to anyways!" Jack exclaims. "That's my whole point--he will not see me like that. Best that I save myself the heartache now, and him the aggravation of havin' to deal with a lovestruck man." He lands accusing eyes on his friend. "Mark's never been with a man, has he? Excludin' college experimentation," Jack adds as Felix opens his mouth, "because you know we've all done that."

Felix flounders for a few seconds before finally admitting, "No. He's never dated a man. But listen!" Felix says quickly when Jack's shoulders droop. "He's really a great guy, and you couldn't have a better friend. I think in the long run you'll agree that no Mark is worse than just-friends Mark."

"Pretty words from the guy who practically shoved me up his arse," Jack grunts. "How can I trust that you won't keep tryin' to pair us up? That'll put more strain on a friendship than anythin'."

Studying him, Felix sighs. "Alright, fine. I'll tell Marzia that we can't interfere anymore."

"Good," Jack says, rubbing his face tiredly. "This whole thing has given me an ulcer."

The days ends slowly after that, giving Jack far too much time to think. What is he doing, considering to be Mark's friend? He knows where this road goes. It's either unrequited love or the whole "I'm just here to mess around, nothing serious" guy thing, where they don't want to involve or admit to feelings. The first couple rounds of that in college had hurt bad enough without having a serious instant attraction to add to the mix. He's utterly enthralled by Mark. How could he ever pretend to just be his friend?

"Hey, Marzia and I are going to a movie tonight," Felix says as he packs up his things. "Wanna come? She never wants to share popcorn with me, and I can't eat all of it."

_And be third wheel? No thank you,_ Jack thinks. "Call Mark," Jack says distractedly, "he'll eat anythin'."

When Felix doesn't respond, Jack looks up. Felix is staring at him, mouth half-lifted into a smile. "What?" Jack asks defensively.

"Nothing," Felix mutters, grinning. "Well, have a good night." He slings his bag across his shoulders and waves, departing for the elevator.

Jack watches him go, frowning. He'd bet his last dollar that Felix was going to interfere with Mark and him. Jack packs his bag and shuts down his computer, then waits at the elevator as it crawls back up to the sixth floor. What should he do? Should he ignore Mark if he ever shows up again? Or should he try to be friends, and see where it goes? 

Shaking his head vigorously, Jack steps into the empty elevator. He knows where the friendship would go. Jack would eventually be unable to take it, and would confess whatever feelings he had to Mark, who would... likely go running in the opposite direction. As he descends to the lobby, he thinks of how nice it would be to see Mark smiling, just for him. A pipe dream, but it's a thought that puts a smile on his face.

The elevator doors open, and Jack starts the walk home.

 

It's been two weeks exactly since he met Mark, and Jack can safely say that he's more than a little miserable.

He hasn't seen him at all in that time, hasn't heard from him (how would he? It's not as if they exchanged information) and Jack feels the absence of the bright personality, the cheerful demeanour and the wholesome soul that is Mark. He knows that it's for the better, that he shouldn't complain. This is what he wanted, to avoid the messiness that will follow if he tries to befriend him. It still doesn't stop the ache.

Jack's picking at his food, a delicious but virtually untouched plate of pasta and fried vegetables, while Felix, Marzia, and their mutual friend Cry who's visiting from New York discuss the latest developments in Cry's life.

"I've met some amazing people at the gym, too," Cry muses. "One of them even got me doing squats. Can you believe it?"

As the table laughs collectively, Jack inputs his own weary chuckle. He knows the comment was funny, in some way. Cry doesn't even work out, does he? Jack should pay more attention. Instead, he pushes a shard of onion around a stationary bell pepper slice on his plate.

The room is silent, and Jack looks up at the lack of conversation to find his three friends staring at him. He flushes. "Sorry, did someone ask me a question?"

Marzia sighs. "Jack, what's going on?"

Jack stiffens. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, baloney," Felix gripes. "This is about Mark again, isn't it?"

"No," Jack grits through his teeth. "It's nothin'. I'm tired, that's all."

"Mark Fischbach?" Cry says curiously. "Saw him the other day. He's under the weather, got some flu bug. He wasn't looking that great."

Jack ignores the panicky beating of his heart. _Not your business,_ he thinks firmly. _No matter how much you want to bring him salt crackers, Pepto Bismol and homemade chicken soup, that is not your business._

Marzia frowns. "He hasn't said anything to us. We should go visit him, see how he's doing."

"Is everyone done eating?" Felix asks, his eyes landing on Jack's nearly full plate.

Jack freezes. "Oh, we're goin' now? I don't know if I--"

"Nonsense," Marzia says, standing. She collects the plates, even Jack's, and carries them to the kitchen.

"But I--" Jack protests, but Felix cuts him off.

"We'll be in and out, no big deal," he tells Jack. "You can hide in the hall closet if you really want to."

Fuming at Felix's teasing, Jack stands and leaves the room, heading to the front door. He's putting on his shoes when Cry comes into the foyer.

"So, Mark," Cry says eloquently.

"Shut up," Jack bites out. "I'm goin' home."

"He mentioned you," Cry comments as Jack's hand rests on the doorknob.

Jack hates that he hesitates. "He did not," he says without turning.

"Then you're not a plucky Irishman with a disposition to be callous towards him?" Cry chuckles.

Jack whirls around. "I was not callous, I just--"

"Don't want to see him, we know," Marzia says as she joins them. "But I don't think you get what that does to a guy like Mark. He's a total sweetheart. He thinks he did something wrong for you to brush him off like you did."

Felix enters the foyer, turning off lights as he comes. "And he didn't really deserve it in the first place."

Turning back to face the door, Jack mutters, "Of course he didn't. But this is better." _It's better if he hates me,_ Jack thinks. Better than the alternative, anyway.

Marzia's hand finds his at his side and squeezes. "We're just going to go see how he's doing. We shouldn't be there long, he'll need rest."

Jack shuts his eyes as he feels himself caving. He's so going to regret this. "Fine, alright, I'll go."

"Outstanding," Cry says, pleased. He pats Jack on the back and opens the door, ushering him out.

The drive there is consumed by idle chatter but Jack only responds when he's spoken to. His nerves are fraying as he sits there and the closer they get to Mark's place, the worse it becomes. His fingers twitch and he wishes for something to fiddle with, but all he has is his phone in his pocket, his keys and his wallet. Plus, the second he starts fidgeting he's done for. He'd never hear the end of it.

Although the drive couldn't have been more than thirty minutes Jack feels a year older. As Felix pulls up to a fancy-looking condominium, in the nicer part of town no less, Jack pales. Mark is rich. _Of course he's rich,_ he thinks weakly. Why wouldn't the attractive-as-sin, successful and charming Mark Fischbach also be rich? If Jack ever thought he had a chance, it's long gone now.

_Way out of my league,_ Jack thinks, wringing his hands before he can stop himself. What is he doing here?

Jack follows Felix and the others as they enter the building, apparently using a key. The lobby itself is impressive, modern and expensively decorated. Lingering to prevent the inevitable, Jack stares up at the captivating architecture of the ceiling. It's a geometric pattern made of some dark shiny material, maybe a polished stone. The shapes, three- or four-sided prisms, all interlock and are unevenly distributed in size, and angled outward to use the shininess of the material to create a cool reflective puzzle. Jack finds himself staring slack-jawed straight up at the masterpiece of mirrors.

"C'mon, Jack," Cry calls, jerking his gaze down to the trio waiting by the elevator. Jack hurries across the lobby and into the elevator, and Felix pushes the button for floor fourteen.

_Christ, Mark's view must be something,_ Jack wonders. Much better than his at the little one-bedroom disaster that he calls home. 

The elevator opens to the fourteenth floor without a stop in between and they empty into a wide but short hallway, well-lit by natural light and wall sconces. The hallway only has two doors, Jack supposes for only two tenants a floor. While expensive due to location and quality, the building isn't overly large. Marzia leads the way to the second door, 14B, and knocks. 

Jack tries not to hide behind everyone but he finds it hard to resist drifting to stand out of view from the door. Felix just happens to help with that, by being in front of him. Jack rubs his face wearily. 

After a significant amount of time, and two more knocks, there's a small, muffled commotion somewhere in the apartment, and then Mark is slowly opening the door. His eyes are bloodshot, he's white as a sheet, and he's huddled up in a large blanket like a child. It seems to take a moment for him to register the people in front of him, but then Mark gives a quiet chuckle and smiles. Jack's heart clenches.

"Hey, buddy," Felix greets. "How you feeling? Cry told us you were all flu-ey."

Mark shrugs, and his blanket shifts to drop off his shoulder. He's not wearing a shirt underneath. Jack swallows. "I'm--yeah, I've been better," Mark croaks, grinning lopsidedly. "Thanks for stopping by. Come in, if you don't fear my germs."

The group outside the door files in, and Jack hesitates when he's the last one in the hall. Once Cry is over the threshold Mark goes to close the door, and then looks up when he sees Jack still there. "Oh," he says, and his face gets a little tenser around the eyes.

"Sorry," Jack blurts out, taking a half-step back. "Sorry, they invited me, I didn't--I'll go."

"No, uh, come in," Mark says after a moment, holding the door open wider. But he doesn't smile.

Jack thinks about running. His legs take him through the door before he really considers it, though. Quickly he sheds his shoes and steps out of the front hall, gravitating to Felix's side and away from the stare he feels from Mark.

Felix and Marzia take up the love seat, leaving a large sofa and two armchairs in the living area, one of which Cry claims. Jack takes in the tasteful but not really expensive furniture, the homey elements like a knitted kaftan on the back of the couch and a slew of personal clutter on the coffee table. The space is open concept, with a wall of windows facing north with an incredible view (he knew it) and the kitchen to the left with an island and double wall ovens. Jack's inner chef salivates at the gourmet kitchen, and he likes it more the longer he looks. 

"Sit down and stop gawking, Jack," Marzia giggles. 

Jack startles, hastening into the living room and taking a seat on the couch. He looks up as Mark shuffles to the other armchair, dropping into it in a heap of sexy man and blanket. 

Mark heaves a sigh and scratches his chin, covered with at least four days' growth. "How's work, Felix?" he asks.

The Swede shrugs, lounging back on the love seat and slinging an arm around Marzia. "Pretty good. My one coworker is a pain in my ass, though."

Jack looks sharply at Felix, who ignores him. Mark murmurs, "That sucks. What're they doing?"

"Oh, he's doing work and everything," Felix says. "He's professional. But I worry about him, you know? He seems pretty lonely to me. He kinda mopes around. It's distracting."

Furiously Jack pulls out his phone and starts mutilating the screen in his haste and fervour to text Felix. He pretends he's blushing because of anger, and nothing else.

"Oh," Mark says, and he looks a little confused. "Well, maybe mention it to HR? He might have to talk to someone."

_I am going to kill you with a fork and a hand mixer,_ Jack types, glaring at the man across him. 

"Nah, I think it's more like he needs a girlfriend," Felix laughs. Jack feels his ear grow hot. "Though I heard a rumour he's gay."

"Uh," Mark mumbles, looking at Marzia and then back at Felix. "Okay."

_STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP,_ Jack spams Felix's phone until it's constantly buzzing in his pocket.

Felix shrugs, pulling out his phone and turning it on silent. Jack could melt his face off with the heat of his stare. "It's just shitty that I can't help him out," Felix says.

Pocketing his phone, Jack slouches back on the sofa and tunes out the entire conversation. He just wants to go home.

"Jack, are you alright?" Marzia asks at a lull in conversation after a short while, sounding worried.

When he looks up, Mark is looking back. Quickly he looks away, sitting up straight. "Totally fine," he mutters. "Just a little tired."

"I've got a spare room if you need to lie down," Mark offers, but he's still not smiling.

Jack shakes his head. "That's okay, thanks. I think I'll just go home."

"We just got here," Cry argues.

_And I'm not wanted like you are,_ Jack wants to say. "I'll come back some other time," he compromises, crossing his fingers in his pocket.

"I drove you here," Felix points out.

"I like walkin'," Jack shoots back, glaring.

Mark clears his throat, making everyone look at him. "Jack, just stay. If you get tired, I can show you the spare room. Then when you feel better you can leave."

Jack's body thrills at the sound of his name on Mark's tongue. "Yeah, okay," he says weakly. 

Mark smiles, just a small thing, but Jack's heart lifts.

They sit chatting for almost two hours, Jack growing more at ease with each minute. The more Mark involves him, asking him questions and bringing him into the discussions, the harder Jack finds it to stop staring at him. He has to contain himself to timed intervals, to prevent Mark from catching him and also to not be creepy. Mark never seems to notice. The sky is dark outside the high rise when Jack looks up again, the large windows showing the impeccable view of the city skyline glittering with a cacophony of urban lights.

"Oh wow," he awes, "it's dark out already."

The others look up, surprised. "It is," Cry says, then laughs.

Marzia and Felix stand in unison, Felix fishing out his keys. "Well, everyone out. Mark needs to go to bed."

Jack stands, reluctant to let the evening end. He trails Cry to the front door, hearing Mark just behind him. He has to remind himself to breathe.

"Thanks for coming over," Mark says, smiling even as his eyes droop. Jack pulls on his shoes in order to stop staring, again.

"Anytime," Felix says happily. "I'll send Jack over with some homemade soup. Chicken noodle," Felix adds.

"Oh, I don't think--" Jack begins, flushing as Mark turns on him.

"Would you really?" Mark asks, his eyes lighting up.

Jack caves hard. "Of course, my ma's recipe is the best out there."

Mark beams at him, pulling him in for a hug. Jack freezes, going stiff as a board, but Mark lets go almost right away. "Right, germs," he says to himself, laughing.

Jack's skin tingles where Mark's hand still rests on his arm. After a moment he lifts it off as he waves Felix out the door, Marzia and Cry following. Jack turns with an awkward wave but Mark says quietly, "Wait a moment, Jack."

Pausing, Jack turns back. "Yeah?" His heart is trying to beat him to death.

"Are we okay?" Mark asks softly. "Like, I know I was kind of a jackass. And I know you probably just don't want a lot to do with me--"

"No!" Jack cries, startling Mark. "No," he says much quieter, "I'd... like to be friends. I'm sorry for how I acted when you came by my work."

Mark shakes his head. "Don't be, I shouldn't have surprised you," he argues.

Jack ducks his head and smiles. "I'll bring you some soup tomorrow. I don't work."

"Thanks," Mark says gratefully. "Anytime is good, I'll probably be sleeping but don't worry about waking me up. I can fall asleep easy."

Nodding, Jack walks out the door and dawdles on his way to the elevator. He glances back and sees Mark smiling at him.

 

The moment Felix drops him off at home--after getting an earful about being a prick on purpose and humiliating Jack just to get a rise out of him--Jack is rooting through his freezer for his batch of chicken stock from the holidays. With that, Jack takes inventory of his fridge/freezer and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees he has chicken and vegetables. 

He stays up later than he really should cooking the chicken and getting the soup stock ready to simmer overnight with the vegetables. He nearly goes comatose when he finally gets into bed, barely remembering to set an alarm. At six, he wakes up to check on the soup and add the last ingredients. Then he crashes for another hour, and his alarm gets him up again at seven thirty. Blearily he tests the soup, adds some more spices and lets it simmer while he showers and gets ready. 

Once he's done all he can to tame his hair and put on his nicer clothes, he ladles out over half the soup and puts it in a giant tupperware container. Armed, he puts the soup in three plastic bags, puts that in his backpack, and hauls his bike downstairs to the lobby.

The bike ride does a lot to soothe his nerves, and sort out his mind. He can do this. Mark is an amazing person, from what little Jack knows about him. He's everything Felix had said he was, but that doesn't make Jack's job any easier. But he can do it. Mark and he will be friends. Jack's feelings can just take a seat.

At Mark's condo building, he looks on the panel for 14B, and buzzes twice. It takes a long time, but eventually Jack is buzzed in and he makes his way to the elevator after locking his bike up outside.

The elevator stops frequently as he makes his way up to fourteen, since it's early morning and everyone is heading to work. Jack feels very out of place when he's surrounded by business men and women on their phones, extravagant-looking young women with designer handbags, handsome young men in tailored suits and diamond watches. Jack feels like he's in an episode of the Twilight Zone.

At the fourteenth floor, Jack gratefully escapes the elevator, hurrying to 14B and knocking. As he does, 14A's door opens, and out comes a beautiful young woman, blonde and curvy and extremely well-dressed. Jack's heart sinks. _That's_ Mark's neighbour?

Mark opens the door in pyjama pants and a tank top, grinning from ear to ear when he sees Jack. His hair is mussed from sleep and his face has a bit of pallor but otherwise he looks alright. 14A is at the elevator and turns as Mark says, "Hey! Come on in."

14A smiles and calls, "Mark, honey, you look dreadful! Something buggy catch you?"

Mark looks past Jack, noting his neighbour and smiling. "Hey, Adriana. Yeah, I don't know what I've got but it's putting up a fight. Have a good day!" He beckons Jack inside and shuts the door with a wave.

Jack pulls his backpack off his shoulder, unzipping it and digging inside. "You get along with her? Your neighbour."

"Yeah," Mark nods, "I've had her over a couple times, when I've had parties and stuff. She's good people."

Jack swallows that knowledge and reminds himself that he has no right to be jealous, especially considering he's supposed to be Mark's friend. He lifts out the tupperware container with a flourish, presenting it to Mark. "My ma's homemade chicken soup."

Mark sighs happily, snatching the container and hugging it. "It's still warm," he croons, nuzzling the plastic.

Unable to help himself, Jack snickers and takes the soup back. "Go get your blankie and I'll heat this up."

"Don't diss my blankie," Mark sniffs as he grabs the blanket off the couch. He wraps himself in it and follows Jack to the kitchen, where Jack hunts for a pot. He produces one from a lower cabinet, sets it on the stove, turns the heat on and pours the soup into it. Mark puts his face right over the pot and inhales. "Oh my God, I'm gonna marry you. Make this for me forever."

Jack laughs, but his stomach blooms with butterflies. "I can make cream of broccoli too."

Mark fixes him with a serious stare, leaning back. "You monster. Stop telling me these things before I hire you as a personal chef."

"Would you?" Jack wonders, surprised. He'd always wondered if he was a good enough cook to maybe work in a restaurant. He's never known.

"Oh, in a heartbeat," Mark assures him. "If you weren't a programmer at heart I wouldn't even feel bad about it."

"But I'm not," Jack finds himself saying. "A programmer at heart. I love cookin'."

Mark studies him, shifting his weight onto his other foot. "Really?"

"Yeah," Jack admits. "I'm only a programmer because I learned how to when I was a teenager, and my degree in hotel management didn't get me anywhere in this town."

"No kidding?" Mark muses. "I was in school for biomedical engineering. You can see how far I went with that."

Jack chuckles, shrugging one shoulder as he stirs the soup. "You went far enough with somethin' else. Doesn't matter what it is. Clearly you have yourself supported and happy." Jack gestures to the apartment in emphasis.

"Supported," Mark agrees, his eyes downcast. "I don't know if I'd say happy." 

The way Mark looks in that moment, sick and pensive and far too alone, makes Jack reach out his hand and clasp it around Mark's wrist. He looks up then, meets Jack's eyes. He sighs an uneven breath and rubs at his neck with his free hand. 

"I'm happy enough," Mark amends. "I shouldn't be so ungrateful for what I have, what I've been given."

"There's no minimum of happiness you have to meet to suddenly be okay," Jack says at length. He lets his fingers loosen and his hand drops when Mark makes no move to accept his comfort. He turns to the soup, stirring. "You don't have to be happy all the time. You can be successful and perfect to everyone else, and you can still be sad."

Jack sees Mark move away in his peripheral, and he ignores the dropping sensation in his chest. "You make a good point," Mark says after a moment. "Sometimes I just wonder... where did I go? Where is the old me, that loved engineering and science and outer space? I guess I still love all those things, but I just... There's a fluidity to writing, and it gives me peace. How did I change so much?"

Turning, Jack faces Mark, who's curled up on the couch in his blanket ball. "The two don't have to be exclusive," Jack tells him. "You can write about anythin' in the world. You could write about engineerin', about space, about the grass you walk on. There's no limit to it. Writin' is one of those things that you can mould like clay, to be anythin'."

For a long time Mark is silent, and Jack focuses on the soup instead of intruding. Once it starts to steam generously, he turns off the heat and spoons out a small bowl for Mark. He pokes around in the cabinets for a minute before finding the soda crackers, which he brings with him and Mark's soup to the living room. Jack sets them down in front of the quiet brunet, and lingers uncertainly. He's not comfortable with leaving Mark so brooding, but he may have already overstayed his welcome.

But Mark looks up before Jack can decide. He notes the single bowl and turns sad eyes on Jack. "You're not staying?" he asks, so quiet.

"I don't have anywhere to be," Jack replies, equally quiet. "I can stay."

Mark nods, scooting forward to get closer to the table and unraveling his hands from his blankie shell. Gingerly he spoons up some soup, blowing gently before closing his mouth around it. Immediately he moans, startling Jack into a deep blush. "This is amazing," Mark praises him, going for another mouthful without even looking up.

"You're welcome," Jack laughs, sitting at the other end of the couch. He keeps an eye on Mark while he eats, making sure he's... what? Not going to fall over? Jack scoffs at himself. _Stop mommying the poor man, he certainly doesn't need it._

When he's finished eating, Mark sits back with a sigh, flopping sideways onto the couch and coming dangerously close to putting his head in Jack's lap. "Thank you," he murmurs. "I feel better already."

Jack doesn't move for a moment, but then he relaxes when Mark just lies there. "You're welcome," he says again, barely a whisper.

Mark rolls onto his back and looks up at Jack. "Where'd you learn to cook?"

A fond smile crawls across his face before he can stop it. "My ma," he says. "She used to get me to cook with her and my sisters, since I was the baby and couldn't do much else yet to help out when I was just a wee thing. Been cookin' as long as I can remember."

"You said you have two brothers, too, along with two sisters," Mark recalls, and Jack looks at him with surprise. "What, you thought I wouldn't remember?"

"No," Jack says honestly. "I didn't think I left the best first impression, so I didn't think you'd remember anything I've said."

"Ah," Mark intones, sitting up slowly. "I knew that dinner would still haunt me in some way."

Jack reaches out before thinking, and immediately pulls his hand back. "I'm not still mad or anythin'," he insists. "But..."

"But it's still hard to believe that I'm actually a nice guy," Mark finishes wryly.

"No!" Jack exclaims, then winces. "I mean, no, that's not it." He sighs, gripping his hands tightly together. "I... have more than my fair share of trust-based baggage, let's say," is what he goes with.

Mark nods. "That I can get. Some ex of yours screw you over?"

"Among other things," Jack agrees.

"Amen to that," Mark laughs, shoving him lightly in the shoulder. 

Jack grins a little at the contact, resisting the urge to shove back. Mark's in rough shape as it is. He stands and collects the dishes and leftover crackers, bringing them back to the kitchen. He sees a few dishes at the sink already, so he starts running hot water and digs under the sink for the dish soap.

"Hey, what're you doing?" Mark says, hurrying over. "No guests doing dishes, house rules."

"Overruled," Jack tells him. "When the man of the house is sick, stand-in dishwashers are available." Jack sticks his tongue out at him.

"Fine, but I'll dry," Mark insists.

Jack frowns. "No. Go to bed."

"I'll dry," Mark says again, firmer.

"Like hell ye are," Jack says, his accent thickening. "Get the hell te bed."

Mark smirks. "Oh, scary Irishman with his scary accent. Do you have a pot of gold, or is it just a bucket full of potatoes?"

"Is this you tryin' to make me angry?" Jack laughs, throwing bubbles at him. "Seriously, off to bed with you."

Grumbling, Mark shambles down the hall, presumably to his bedroom. "Fine, but I'm not sleeping!" Jack doesn't hear a door shut but he hears a bed creak.

He finishes the dishes, dries them and figures the kitchen out enough to put them all away. Afterward he pours a glass of water, finds a bottle of painkillers in a small cupboard and creeps down the hall, peeking in every doorway. 

The first door, on his left, is a large bathroom, tiled from top to bottom in blue glassy tile with a huge custom shower encased in glass. Further down on his right is what appears to be a home office. At the end of the hall there's a door on either side and one between the two. The one on the left reveals an empty, unpersonalized bedroom, supposedly the spare room. To the right, Jack peers through the available crack in the door to see Mark absolutely dead to the world, sprawled across his bed with his blanket stretched out over him.

Smiling uncontrollably, Jack eases into the room, setting the water and pill bottle on the bedside table. Mark snuffles in his sleep, his hair tousling from the burst of air. Jack lets his hand stretch out to brush Mark's hair from his eyes. Mark doesn't stir at all, and Jack backs out of the room again.

He goes back to the kitchen and grabs his just-washed tupperware off the counter, putting the remaining soup back in it. He seals the lid on and puts it in Mark's fridge, which is moderately full of various foodstuffs.

Unsure what else to do, Jack starts gathering his things. His wallet where he set it down in the kitchen, his keys on the coffee table. He grabs his backpack from the living room floor, slinging it back onto his shoulder.

_You're out of excuses to stay,_ Jack thinks to himself dismally. With a long look, Jack turns and leaves the apartment.

 

The next day, Felix corners him at work when Jack goes to the bathroom. He's just got his zipper down when Felix bursts into the room and practically yells, "Tell me what happened right now!"

Jack jumps a mile high and nearly pinches his dick in his zip. "Jesus almighty fockin' _Christ,_ Felix!" he shrieks, sending him a scathing glare.

Raising his hands placatingly, Felix grins. "Sorry. Unintentional. But seriously, tell me what happened."

"Tell you what happened when?" Jack asks, turning his back to Felix and facing the urinal.

"Yesterday!" Felix cries. "You went to Mark's, you brought him soup?"

Jack's heart blips without his permission. "Yeah, he got his soup. He really liked it." Jack sighs. "And then we talked a bit, I did the dishes and he went to bed. Then I left."

Felix glowers at him. "That's it? You didn't flirt with him?"

Closing his zipper and throwing up his hands, Jack moves past him to rinse his hands and walks back to the office area. "Why would I flirt with him? He's straight. He's also expressed that he, and I really do sound like a broken record here, is not interested. Why would I put myself through the pain of tryin' to pursue him when I know I'll get shot down?"

"Augh!" Felix screeches, flopping down into his chair. Much more resigned, Jack sits down at his own desk. "Jack, listen to me," Felix says seriously. "Mark has never reacted this way when we've tried to match him up. He's never gotten his back up like he did with you. Every time, he's gently turned the girls down after dinner by himself, all polite and compassionate."

"With. Girls," Jack spits out. "Do I look like a fockin' girl to you?"

"Hear me out," Felix urges. "Girl or not, whenever we introduce him to people he is the epitome of gentlemanly. You're the first one he's had a hissy fit over. And even he doesn't know why."

Jack claws the air in front of him, pantomiming strangling Felix. "If you would listen to me, I'd tell you that he hated me because he got practically thrown at me. He told me so."

Felix grins. "Yet we've been doing it for years and he hasn't yet reacted like that. How odd."

"I'm not listenin' to this madness," Jack gripes, turning back to his work.

Felix needles him all day about it, trying to usher him into a sense of security that Mark really is interested, but just got cold feet because of all the pressure. Jack is actually halfway mad by the end of the day, and then his boss calls him to his office.

"Hey, maybe it's that raise you've been waiting for," Felix says with excitement.

Jack perks up. "Hey, yeah!" He finishes packing up and shuts his computer off, making his way down the rows of desks to his boss's door. He knocks and waits until he hears a gravelly voice bark, "Well, get in here, McLoughlin!"

Giddy, Jack opens the door and admits himself to the office. He sits quickly in front of the desk, bouncing in his seat like a kid on a sugar rush. His boss, James Carmen, stares him down with his bushy grey eyebrows low over his eyes. "Stop that before I staple your ass to the chair."

Instantly Jack stops, but his grin just gets wider. His boss sighs hard, massaging his temples with his hands. "You don't make this an easy thing to do with a smile like that, Mr. McLoughlin."

Jack's aforementioned smile dissolves. "What do you mean?" he asks, dread clutching at him.

"There's..." Mr. Carmen looks him over and sighs again. "There have been cutbacks to our resources. Namely, personnel."

The pieces add up all too easily. Jack feels his life plummet into the ground at full force. "I see," he says numbly.

Mr. Carmen continues talking, assuring Jack that he will recommend him to any company he applies at and will put all his best efforts into seeing that a spot stays open for him should they hire again. But Jack barely hears it. He stands when Mr. Carmen does, shakes his hand and is told that he need not come to work for his next shift. Mr. Carmen wishes him the best, and Jack leaves his office.

Felix is waiting at the elevator, practically vibrating out of his shoes. "Well?"

Jack stares at him and doesn't even see him. He shakes his head to try and clear the fog. "I... I just got fired," he murmurs.

Felix's jaw drops. "What?! You got fired?"

"I just got fired," Jack wails, covering his face. "What the hell 'm I gonna do? It was hard enough gettin' this job with virtually no experience."

"Hey, hey, it'll be okay," Felix says gently, pulling him into a hug. Jack goes willingly, clinging to him tightly. "We'll find you something. Everyone will help, alright?"

Nodding, Jack lets him go and meanders into the elevator. Numbly he pushes the button for the ground floor and leans against the wall, tipping his head back. Felix nudges him when they hit their destination, and Jack empties his mind and walks home.

He's home, watching Let's Make a Deal in his underwear and halfway into his third BudLite when it occurs to him. Mark had said Jack was a good enough cook to employ, and it's something Jack loved doing. If he found someone who would hire him to cook, well, that's his employment problem solved. But could he really make a job out of it?

Speed-dialling Felix, Jack paces the length of his admittedly small apartment. He picks up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Give me Mark's number," is Jack's greeting.

Felix laughs delightedly. "You minx. Getting ahead while you've got free time?"

Jack scowls. "No, he said he would hire me as a personal chef. Sounds like as good a job as any. So, number."

There's a pause on the line, and then Felix says hesitantly, "Mark wants to hire you to cook for him?"

"Yeah," Jack replies adamantly. "He said he would after he had some of my soup."

Suddenly Felix is howling with laughter on the other end. "Oh man, oh God. He's gonna pay you to play wifey. Marzia, come listen to this. Jack is going to--"

Flushing from forehead to collarbone, Jack snaps, "Just give me his number, you Swedish troll."

Cackling, Felix recites the number for him, immediately after which Jack hangs up. He dials Mark's number and saves it to his phone, then anxiously paces and waits for him to pick up. 

"Hullo," Mark groans into Jack's ear.

"Hey," Jack says uneasily. Now that he's thinking about it, this is probably the worst idea he's ever had. What is he doing, trying to put himself even closer to Mark? He knows where this ends. He can find a job somewhere else, this will only end badly.

"Jack?" Mark guesses, then yawns loudly. "You got my number from Felix, huh? I was gonna ask you yesterday but somebody skipped out when I fell asleep like a loser."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" Jack murmurs, apologetic. 

Mark chuckles, making Jack's knees gooey. "You did, but I've been sleeping all day. Need to get some of that soup in me. Thanks again, by the way."

"Yeah, about that," Jack begins, swallowing his pride. He can ask a friend (is Mark a friend yet?) to hire him to basically keep him fed, right? "I was thinkin', and today specifically really got me thinkin'... How serious were you about the whole personal chef thing?"

Jack hears Mark grunt as he presumably gets out of bed. "I mean, as personal chefs go you would be my number one choice, considering I know you and you've proven you won't poison me. I don't know that I actually need one, though. Why, what's up?"

"Oh, uh," Jack says haltingly, "no reason, I just--I sort of got fired today and I was just thinkin' crazy, don't mind me. I'm gonna go--"

"Whoa, whoa," Mark says, shocked. "You got fired today? What the hell for?"

"Personnel needed thinnin'," Jack tells him miserably.

Mark sighs. "Shit, that sucks. I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Jack says. "Anyway, I'll talk to you later."

"Hey, wait," Mark says quickly. "Listen, why don't you come over for a bit and we can discuss the whole chef thing, okay? I feel weird not seeing you when we're talking about this."

Jack shivers with feeling. _Mark wants to see me,_ he thinks with wonder. "Yeah, I... Okay."

"Great," Mark says. "I'll see you soon?"

"See you soon," Jack confirms, and hangs up. What the hell did he just do?

The ride to Mark's is quick, Jack going at a breakneck pace to burn off energy. He's a sweaty mess when he gets there but he doesn't care. If he stinks then he'll ask Mark to use his shower. He locks up his bike and Mark buzzes him in.

"Hey," Mark smiles as he opens his front door, then lifts his eyebrows. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Jack says quickly. "I, uh, biked hard on my way over. Too much energy."

Mark nods, gesturing him inside. As he passes him, Jack sees Mark stiffen. Jack deflates. He does stink. _Great._ He hastens to the couch and sits.

After closing the door Mark joins him on the couch, right next to him. Jack's heart seizes and starts doing flips. "So," Mark says, eyeing him. "You actually want to cook for me. You're not joking?"

Jack shakes his head, hands on his bouncing knees. "Yeah. I mean, I don't have a lot of prospects. I was only workin' with Felix for about ten months 'til now, and before that all my work was in Ireland, and it wasn't necessarily good work. Part-time jobs doing manual labour, mostly. I don't have references or anythin' like that." He shrugs, glancing at Mark. "I can't promise I'll do perfect, but I'll try my damnedest to make you happy."

Mark looks down, his fingers threaded together, elbows on his thighs and his hands hanging loosely between them. "Would you be ridiculously offended if, instead of my personal chef, I asked you to be my personal assistant?" Mark looks up at him imploringly. "I've discovered that I'm pretty bad at keeping my life together on my own. I forget things like deadlines and dates, and I'm horrendous at writing something down and misplacing it. Would--" He cuts himself off, looking frustrated. "I know this is awful of me to ask. I understand if you don't want to. No one wants to be assistant to one of their friends. That's just a weird situation to be in."

_Well, what's the difference, really?_ Jack thinks to himself. They're both just taking care of Mark, one being his career assistant and the other being his cook. Right. So they're not similar at all. But Jack is confident he can do both. Not to mention he would have a bona fide excuse to stay close to Mark now. 

"Oh, no, I don't mind that," Jack tells him hurriedly. Mark looks surprised. Jack continues, "I wouldn't mind being your assistant. It's just one step up from what I would be doin' anyway. I mean, Felix likes to call me Mom whenever I try to take care of him, which I hate and he knows that. I take care of people," he rambles. "I'm pretty good at it." Jack shrugs, looking away from Mark's intensely hopeful stare. "I could take care of you pretty well, I think. Feed you, organize your horrifically unorganized life." Okay, so Jack just literally offered to take care of him. 

But Mark doesn't seem put off by his wording. Mark guffaws, quickly stifling the sound. "You have no idea how right you are," he says. "About being unorganized. I mean, I try. But it all gets away from me."

Nodding, Jack looks over at Mark, studying his profile. "So, I'm your assistant."

Mark grins, offering a hand to Jack. "Welcome aboard," he says.

Jack laughs and shakes his hand. He ignores the tingling in his hand when, again, Mark's grip is firm and heart-wrenching. He swallows and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans.

Mark gives him a full list of phone numbers and emails, ranging from his work-related to emergency contact numbers, such as his mom in Cincinnati, his brother Thomas, Wade, Bob, Felix and Marzia, and surprisingly Jack is already on it as a means of contacting Felix or Marzia. He doesn't mention it, but he thinks Mark is embarrassed by it since his face goes pink when they go through the list. Jack takes a picture of the list with his phone and hands it back.

"Um," Mark begins uneasily, and Jack pauses in the hallway. Mark's stopped by the spare room door, looking small. "I know this sounds stupid considering I haven't even known you for a month, but, you're welcome to move in, too. Not if you don't want to," he rushes out, "obviously you have a place of your own."

Jack stares at him, feeling his ears get warm. He could live with Mark. The answer is a no-brainer to him. "Jesus, I... Yeah, hell, I'll move in. Thank you. Your place is leagues better than what I'm livin' in."

Mark grins sheepishly. "Well I just thought, since you'll be working for me. If anything happens it's better that you're close."

_Close._ Jack revels in the word for a second before he forces himself to focus again. "You're not wrong," he tells Mark. "It's a solid idea." 

With a nod Mark moves on, explaining what his projects currently are and when each is due, and to what publisher. Of course, he's reading them from emails and has no idea himself. _Hence why I'm here,_ Jack muses. Jack inputs the dates into his phone's calendar along with reminders for the week before each. 

Next, Mark moves on to events. He's due to attend most galas, premieres and parties for whatever he's representing through his writing. Jack balks at the list as Mark shows him the email.

"What the shite are you attendin' the Golden Globes for?" he exclaims.

Mark rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. "Ah, well, I happened to write a short story that may have drawn the eye of, uh, Ang Lee."

If Jack had been drinking something he'd have spit the whole thing out all over his new boss. _"Ang Lee?"_ Jack shrieks.

Mark shushes him with a finger to Jack's lips. "Okay, so it's not a big deal. But I'm not the screenwriter so I don't get the Globe even if the picture won anything." Mark sounds mildly disappointed. "I just get credit for the idea."

"So, when the credits say, "Based on the story written by..."" Jack leads off.

"That would be me," Mark admits slowly.

Jack sits down hard on the floor. "Give me just a minute," he wheezes. Jack would consider himself a little starstruck, at the moment.

Mark crouches in front of him, looking worried. "Are you okay?" he asks softly.

"Perfectly fine," Jack nods, rubbing a hand anxiously over his hair. "You're just a hell of a lot more famous than I originally thought."

"I'm still the same guy," Mark tells him. "Still a video game nerd, still a closet poet. Even the cool people have been normal once in their lives."

"Closet poet," Jack repeats, giving Mark an appraising look. Mark ducks his head, half-grinning despite his embarrassment. "Right. I'm bein' silly. You're just Mark."

Mark beams at him, taking his arm and pulling him up to his feet. "Just Mark, and just Jack. No labels, no façades." He pauses, his hand still on Jack's shoulder. "I need to be able to trust you. Can I do that?"

"Absolutely, of course," Jack asserts. "I haven't got any skeletons or anythin' like that." And he doesn't technically. His skeletons are long buried.

Mark pulls him in for a hug by the grip on his shoulder. "Thank God," Mark laughs into his ear. 

Jack savours the contact, slipping his arms gingerly around his friend and squeezing. He just happens to have his nose at Mark's hairline, behind his ear, and he takes a discrete sniff. Male musk and Old Spice assault his nostrils in equal parts intensity and pleasure. Jack drops his head onto Mark's shoulder in defeat. Of course he smells amazing. Of course the rich, successful, drafted by Ang fucking Lee, handsome as all hell, charming, charismatic, compassionate, gentle soul that is Mark would also smell like heaven rolled in bacon. At this point if he's great in bed and has a big cock then quite frankly, whoever gets to keep him should consider themselves a winner of the Lotto.

_Ah, but that won't be you,_ a nasty voice in his head tells him. Jack ignores it, letting Mark go when he feels the pressure of his arms lessen across his back. He studies his boss, taking in the slant of his brow, the curve of his chin. He watches the way Mark's eyes crinkle as he asks him if he's okay, because that's what Mark does. He wants to know that everyone's okay, everyone is safe and happy, while Mark himself is unsure about his own happiness even in his awesome circumstances. 

"I'm okay," Jack says, and means it. He is okay. He's not happy, he's not successful, but he's okay. When Mark smiles at him and moves on to the kitchen, Jack watches him go. With Mark around, he'll always be okay.

 

Groggily Jack throws his pillow across the bed and knocks his alarm clock clean off his bed stand. Now, instead of shrilling on a table, it's shrilling on the floor. Jack disembarks from his snuggly bed to unplug the foul thing, which he does with relish. But the deed is done. He's up.

Slipping on a hoodie to cover his naked chest and pyjama pants to cover his bare legs, Jack plods to the kitchen and goes to work on the coffee maker, adding fresh coffee grinds and water. Once that's working, he pulls out two frying pans and gathers eggs, bacon, bell peppers, an onion, mushrooms and the butter from the fridge. Jack sets both pans on medium heat and starts chopping.

Breakfast is well underway by the time Jack hears Mark kicking around in his room. When Mark finishes his shower, Jack is scooping bacon onto a paper towel on a plate, and the vegetables are searing to perfection. He sips his coffee, liberal cream and sugar, and sets the table for two.

Mark exits the hallway and whistles at the breakfast spread as he sits at the dining table. "Damn, I need to have busy days more often," he chuckles.

"Like hell you do," Jack frets, coming forward to fix Mark's hair where it's flipped up defiantly. "Today you have two deadlines, a meetin' at two with your publicist--who still absolutely hates me, thanks--and your mom called. She says you're comin' home for you brother's birthday since you missed last year."

With his face currently jammed absolutely full of food, the only sound Mark can make is, "Bfluh?" Jack smiles at him, but doesn't let his hands linger once he's fixed Mark's hair. He pours Mark a coffee, adds cream, and sets it in front of him. 

Mark finishes chewing, swallows and says, "Patricia doesn't hate you. She just has an anti-thing for Irishmen. Her ex-husband was from Ireland."

"And who forgot to tell her I was Irish before we met?" Jack muses.

Mark manages to look sheepish as he continues to stuff his gob.

"Eat some vegetables, too," Jack grouses. "I didn't cook them for the birds."

"You say funny things," Mark notes, drinking his coffee. "I should keep you."

Jack glowers at him even as his heart flutters. "Stop flatterin' me and get your laptop. You still have to email back those people from Paramount about the script change, Mister Screenwriter." 

Mark grins, taking pride in the title. He had just been hired for his first screenwriting position the week before. Jack takes mild credit for making sure to flaunt his work around a bit to his old boss, Mr. Carmen, and ask him for a favour. Mr. Carmen had smiled and said he knew just the guy. 

Suddenly Mark looks petulant. "But I'm eating," Mark whines, shovelling another forkful into his mouth.

"Then eat, and stop tryin' to distract me," Jack laughs. He's typing quickly on his phone to Mark's agent Chloe for an upcoming press event early the next month, Mark's next release in his series of fiction novels. "I've already got my hands tied today."

"How has it only been three weeks?" Mark wonders, catching Jack's attention. "How have I not had you forever? I don't even want to remember what I was like before you came along."

_Stop it,_ Jack pleads as his chest clenches painfully. "You were a total fockin' mess, that's for sure," Jack agrees. He sobers. "What's up? You're not usually so... introspective."

Mark shrugs, chews and swallows. "I don't know. I'm getting older. The more I work the more I feel like time is getting away from me. At this rate I'm kind of afraid I'll never settle down and have a family, you know?"

_Yes, I know,_ Jack thinks bleakly. But he laughs lightly, reaches out and pats Mark on the arm. Something he never thought he'd be allowed to do so casually. "It'll be fine, Mark. You're just gettin' to the baby age, where everybody starts gettin' hankerin's for a family and someone to take care of and to take care of them."

Mark studies him, then nods after a moment. "You're right," he relents. "I'm just worrying over nothing." He resumes eating.

"And between you, me and the fence post," Jack adds, making Mark look up from his food again, "there's not a lady on this planet who could resist you with all of your perks. Except for that nose, you should really get that sorted."

Mark grins, a wide baring of teeth that sets Jack's soul on fire. Mark shoves him and nearly pushes Jack out of his chair. "Thank you for that," he laughs.

Jack sits back, content when Mark goes back to eating with an upward curve to his lips. He keeps his phone out, responding to and sending emails. Felix messages him about a dinner, and Jack checks Mark's schedule.

_Yeah, Mark's free on the Thursday if that works for you guys,_ Jack replies.

Felix doesn't reply for several minutes. _Jack, I get that you like the guy and he's the be-all and end-all for you, but don't you think this is kind of sick? You've been working for him for almost a month, and as far as I can tell Mark just treats you like a friend._

Jack stares at the message, his brow low. _Mark treats me like a friend because I am his friend. You're the only one who's got the idea that he'll care about me more than that. I'm over it. I can be his friend. It's enough._

Felix's reply is instantaneous. _Is it though? Is it going to be enough when Mark finds a girl who he can love, get married to, have babies with? What if he asks you to be his best man, the godfather of his kids? Will you be able to handle that?_

Jack blinks the dew from his eyes before responding. _I'll have to. What matters is that Mark is happy._

_What about your happiness? What about you getting married and having babies?_

Jack glances up to be sure Mark isn't looking at him as he partially loses it at the breakfast table. _I want to be happy too. Right now, what makes me happy is working for Mark. I don't need anything else. Does Thursday work or not?_

He doesn't get a reply, which likely means Felix is mad at him. He continues going through emails, now mostly getting rid of junk mail, but he can't wipe the thought from his mind. What if Mark met someone? He pushes back from the table, standing and taking his half-full plate to the sink where he stores the leftovers in tupperware and puts them in the fridge. What if Mark met someone?

Leaving Mark to his breakfast, Jack goes back to his room to get fresh clothes. He takes them to the bathroom and has a quick shower. Towelling off, Jack styles his facial hair and brushes out his hair, which is getting pretty long on top. He has bangs now, he supposes. After brushing his teeth, Jack dresses in jeans and one of his favourite t-shirts.

What if Mark met someone?

When he emerges Mark is nowhere to be found in the kitchen, but the office door is ajar. He peeks his head in and notes that Mark has his headphones on and his word processor open on his laptop, fingers flying across the keys. Jack shuts the door and leaves him alone.

He does laundry, because it needs doing. There's enough for a load of colours and darks, so Jack throws in the colours first. His fingers grab onto Mark's lucky flannel shirt, red and black checkered plaid. He puts it in the washer before he can do something stupid like smell it.

After the food's all put away and the dishes washed, Jack compiles a grocery list based on the contents of the pantry and fridge. He won't get time to do it today, but sometime this weekend he'd get Mark to take him to get some groceries.

What if Mark met someone?

Jack dusts, vacuums, mops and generally tidies to keep his thoughts from catching him. He reorganizes the movie shelf into alphabetical order, making it a hopeless mix of his and Mark's movies. He polishes the wood furniture, making the apartment smell like oranges and wax. He cleans the bathroom until it sparkles.

Eventually Jack sits down, and his thoughts catch up. Mark is not a loner by nature; he is an outgoing and extremely charming individual. Logic serves that he will find someone who can do for him what he does for Jack, emotionally speaking. It should be easy, if he looked. And no one would turn their nose up at Mark. He's too perfect, too right, too _good_. He practically oozes charisma. No, it would be far too easy for Mark to find a girl if he tried.

So, Jack is screwed. He's fallen in love, and with a close friend. His boss, no less. If he messes this up, it's not just his heart on the line. It's his job, his home, his livelihood. He can't afford to alienate Mark.

What if Mark met someone? In order to save himself, Jack has to let Mark go. He has to stop loving him.

Jack lowers his head to hang between his knees, breathing deep and even to try and control the tears that want to escape. He has to let Mark go, too.

He hears footsteps and quickly sits up, but it's too late. "Hey, you okay?" Mark asks, coming right to him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jack assures him. "Just got a bit dizzy. I've been cleanin'."

Mark slowly sits and looks at him, really looks, and Jack feels as if he's under a microscope. He knows in that instant that Mark doesn't believe his lie. He stares Jack down.

Jack wavers under his gaze. "Alright, okay, I was havin' a pity party. Happy?"

"Pity party?" Mark queries. "What for? Are you okay?" He reaches out and places his hand on Jack's knee.

Closing his eyes on a wave of muted pain, Jack murmurs, "I just got thinkin' about families and stuff. I don't think I'll ever get one."

"Why?" Mark demands. "Did someone say something to you?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Jack says quickly, because Mark is getting a fiery look in his eye. "I'm just... me. I don't have a lot of assets to throw around to grab attention like most people. I have no career, no real future, no... family, and no girlfriend or boyfriend to show for it. My last relationship was a disaster, and the only reason I have a job is because my friend pretty much took me in and found things he didn't want to do so I could do them." Jack slouches to cover his face with his hands.

Mark is silent for so long next to him that Jack's comfort level starts to drop dramatically. "Right, forget I said anythin'," Jack blurts, not looking up. "I'm just havin' a moment, I'll be fine." 

Mark stands abruptly, taking Jack by the upper arms and hauling him to his feet, where he stares into his eyes until Jack meets his gaze. "How can you think like that?" Mark asks him, genuine surprise and worry in his tone. "I didn't give you this job because you had nothing else. I gave you this job because I wanted to, because I needed someone to help me and I told you. You were available and you offered." Mark lessens his grip until his hands simply rest on Jack's shoulders. "I don't know what happened in Ireland to make you leave, I don't know about your past crappy relationships. I know you now, and I like you. So does everyone else." Mark gives him a wry look. "And do you really think Felix and Marzia will sit on their hands until you find a guy or girl of your own?"

Jack gives a small laugh and he rubs at his face. "You've got a point there," he admits, sniffling. "I'm not usually like this. I just got to thinkin' and it all kind of occurred to me at once."

"What occurred to you?" Mark asks quietly.

"That I'm, in the end, sort of replaceable," Jack says at length, looking away from Mark's too-handsome face. "I know I'm likeable, to a certain point. But I sort of showed up out of the blue and just wiggled myself into people's lives here. Bit of a parasitic thing to do."

"Jack," Mark says softly. "Why did you leave Ireland?"

When Jack doesn't respond, Mark shifts his hands to his face, making Jack look up at him. Relenting miserably, Jack whispers, "They're all dead."

Jack sees the question coming a mile away. "Who's dead, Jack?"

"My family," Jack murmurs. "Ma and Pa, Malcolm, Seamus, Hannah, Megan... They're gone." Mark's hands slip from his face. Knowing the next question, Jack continues, "We were travellin' to Dublin for a day together at the city. It was Megan's birthday. She didn't want to come in by train, she wanted to drive there. The weather was terrible, but she still wanted to go. We went, and the roads were slick. Pa was drivin' and he lost control. There was a bus comin' from the other lane. It hit us." 

"I'm listening," Mark says thickly, quietly when Jack pauses. "Keep going." 

Jack uses his sleeves to wipe away the tears that leak, but he continues. "We crumpled like a soda can, slid down the side of the road and crashed into a tree. They say Malcolm died instantly. He was on the outside where we got hit. Ma was sittin' passenger, and she died almost right away too. Pa was alive and unconscious, but his legs were crushed under the steerin' wheel and he ended up bleedin' out before anyone got there. Megan was on the side that the tree hit, and she got a really bad concussion and passed out. Internal hemorrhaging, they said. She..." Jack hesitates, because it's getting so hard to talk. He keeps going. "Seamus, me and Hannah were on the inside seats, and got the least of it, but shrapnel still got us. Hannah got some in her eye and it went far enough to hit her brain. She died in the hospital, in surgery. Seamus broke his neck from whiplash, went into a coma and died a couple days later. I was okay. Banged up and nicked, but okay."

Morose, Jack glances up to see Mark's look of shock and horror. "I was in hospital for a few weeks, and then they let me out. I sold everythin' I owned--everythin' we had owned--down to the last spoon, paid all of the debts that Ma and Pa had, stayed for the funerals, and bought a plane ticket. I left everythin' behind, my friends, my job. My whole life."

Jack hears a tiny sob and his head jerks up. Mark is crying. Not just teary-eyed and sniffly, but face-crumpling, splotchy-skinned crying. Mark grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him into a hug, a hug so tight Jack actually gasps. He clings to Mark's shirt for dear life and cries.

"I'm so sorry, Jack," Mark mumbles into his neck. "I'm so sorry."

Jack can't respond, so he grabs on tighter and rides it out.

After a long time--he doesn't know how long--Jack releases his grip on Mark and steps back, but he leaves a hand on Mark's arm for grounding. Mark's eyes are red, probably as red as his own, and he looks miserable.

"I'm sorry," Jack says, wiping his eyes with his sleeves, "I didn't mean to bring that up or nothin'. I haven't told anyone but Felix that. And definitely not in such a dramatic way." He gives a watery chuckle but it feels forced.

Mark nods. "It's okay. I know that must've been hard to tell me." His eyes bore into Jack's, dark brown pools of understanding. "You're not replaceable, just like your family isn't. You're here because you're supposed to be. You--Jack, you make our lives better just for being in them. Felix and Marzia adore you, Wade thinks you're hilarious and coming from him that is a pretty big compliment." 

Mark hesitates, his hands finding Jack's arms and squeezing. "I need you around, man. In case you haven't noticed, you improve my life tenfold just by being my assistant, never mind my friend. You feed me, you do what needs doing in the house, you make sure I'm happy." Mark laughs, lightly shoving Jack's shoulder. "It's like you're my other half."

Jack's heart implodes with pain, his body aching with pure want for those words. But he covers it, and whatever slips out will be excused by what he just shared. "Thanks, Mark," Jack says throatily. "I appreciate it." He gives himself a little shake and clears his throat gruffly. "Now, I'd say you're due some lunch. How's the project goin'?"

Mark looks like he wants to ask him if he's okay, but instead he says, "Yeah, just got the first one finished and sent before I came looking for you. I was going to ask if you wanted to go out for some food. You down?"

"Ah, why don't we order in?" Jack suggests. Smirking, he adds, "If I look half as rough as you, I'm not goin' anywhere."

Barking out a laugh, Mark says, "Good idea. I'll get the menus." He traipses to the kitchen to rifle around in the "takeout drawer" as they call it, which is basically full to overflowing with various takeout menus and pamphlets.

With Mark out of his space Jack heaves a sigh. He heads to the bathroom where he washes his face with cold water and dabs it dry. He looks slightly less worse for wear afterwards. 

Jack stares at himself in the mirror for a long time, studying what he sees there. For whatever reason, he's an important part in Mark's life. His flaws, his perks, whatever he has, Mark accepts them all. Jack can relate to that--he accepts everything of what Mark is, no matter how awful. But, the similarities end there. Mark is strictly being friendly, and Jack... isn't. 

He exits the bathroom and goes to Mark, who's perched over several menus on the kitchen island. "What's cookin', good-lookin'?" Jack asks cheekily.

Mark chuckles, sliding some menus to him. "I was thinking sushi. You in?"

Jack looks at him for a long moment, taking everything in. Then he smiles. "Yeah, always."

 

Things get a little easier after that. Jack works for Mark, cooks his meals, does the chores around the house, organizes both their lives. Mark in turn works hard, works well, and he seems to get a bit of exuberance about him, a low-key happiness that Jack feels in the air. Mark always smiles, but now Jack hears him whistling to himself as he reads a book, or hears him singing (beautifully) in the shower. He sees Mark enjoy the small things a little more, like a meal he loves, a deadline being met or a project he's particularly pleased with. 

The four-month marker of Mark's employ hits and Jack sees himself being here indefinitely, but he knows that's not the case. Any time now, at one of these parties that Jack's never gone to, Mark will meet someone. Someone who takes his breath away, who lights up his life. Then that person will swoop in and do everything that Jack's been doing. Jack is just... a stand-in partner that isn't even a partner. He's Mark's best friend. And that's it.

He's bent over scrubbing out the lower oven when he hears Mark get home. Jack hollers but doesn't bother crawling out. 

Mark's footsteps carry into the kitchen and pause, making Jack peek out underneath his arm. Mark's standing there staring at him, the slightest colouring to his cheeks. "What?" Jack asks. "Have I got oven grease on my arse or somethin'?"

"No," Mark laughs, looking away quickly. "You just look so... wifey."

"That's what you pay me for," Jack teases, going back to scrubbing. 

"Right," Mark says, slightly choked. "Um, so Adriana just caught me in the hall and she's having a party tonight."

Jack's heart flops. "Oh, yeah? That sounds fun. You should go." He scrubs at grease like it owes him money.

Mark pauses for so long that Jack crawls out of the oven to look at him. "Okay, what's goin' on?"

"Well," Mark says, uneasy, "she said I could invite a plus one, but I don't really have anyone I'm... actually seeing."

Jack sighs, peering at Mark ruefully. "So I'm to find you a date?"

Mark winces. "I know that's not your job, I'm sorry. But I don't know who else to ask. If I ask Felix he'll try to find me a wife."

_You knew this was coming,_ Jack tells himself firmly. He puts on a smile, standing. "Yeah, don't worry about it. I should be able to find you someone." Meanwhile he wonders, _Who the hell can I find this late notice?_

Relieved, Mark grins. "Really? Thank you so much, man, I--"

"Yeah, yeah," Jack waves him off. "Don't be surprised if it's Patricia, this late in the day."

Mark grimaces. "I'm sorry, seriously." He laughs, straight-faced and just a little too long. "How lame am I? Can't even find my own date."

"Emergency dates are different," Jack says, to soothe the defeated look on Mark's face. "I can't even get regular dates on my own these days. Felix always sets me up."

"Ah, well, your dates probably have more substance," Mark shrugs. "Mine are just shallow people that like that I'm decently wealthy and happen to look good."

"Shallow people meanin' famous people?" Jack squints accusingly at him. Mark looks sheepish. "Yeah, thought so. Why don't you take one o' them, then?" Jack hears the distinct rise in his accent and squashes it, and his jealousy.

Mark shrugs again. "Famous or not, they're not all good people. It grates on me that I know they're there for three things." At Jack's curious look, he elaborates, "Sex, money, and publicity."

Jack flushes to the roots of his hair, quickly averting his face. Images assault him of a naked Mark, sprawled and-- _No,_ he tells himself desperately. _Don't you dare go there._ "Christ, Mark, be more blunt, would ya?"

Mark grins devilishly. "Jack, you prudish virgin. When's the last time you got any?" 

"Please go away forever," Jack tells him, still red in the face.

Laughing uproariously, Mark prods him with a finger to the chest. "C'mon, tell Marky who you slew last."

"My last girlfriend," Jack admits. When Mark only pokes him harder, he adds, "Jesus, alright, it was several months ago. At least five, probably six."

"Yeesh, and I thought I hadn't had any in a while," Mark muses, backing off.

"Back to the topic at hand," Jack stresses, giving Mark a Look. "I'll get you a date for the party."

Mark gives him a grateful glance. "Thanks, Jack. Seriously." He pats him on the shoulder and departs to the office. 

Jack gives himself five minutes in the bathroom, once he's sure Mark has his headphones on, to have a little bitch fit over his bullshit situation. Then he pulls out his phone and starts texting old coworkers.

Turns out, several of them have nothing to do for the evening, but one is sick and another is just uninterested in going to a party. The third, and apparent winner of the evening with Mark, is a girl Jack remembers well enough. Holly Fitzgerald, a fellow programmer in the same office he used to work in with Felix. She's pretty enough, with big brown eyes and curly dark hair. Not that Jack is comparing. He scowls. 

She agrees to come to the party and Jack's heart breaks, just a bit.

Later that night, after Jack's finished cleaning the oven--and every other available surface within his reach--and has showered the filth and disappointment of the day away, he interrupts Mark in the bathroom as he fixes his hair.

Mark looks up when he walks in, looking hopeful. "Did you find someone?"

Jack nods. "An old coworker, Holly. She's cute, and fairly normal from what I remember."

Abruptly Mark abandons his hair and seizes Jack by the shoulders, shaking him. "You're a wonder! Oh, have I told you I love you today? Because I do, I absolutely do. Lifesaver Jack," Mark crows, spinning them around in a circle.

His heart dropping into his shoes at the casual words, Jack lets Mark manhandle him until he's released, after three full circles and another shaking. When he's set down, Jack sways on his feet but stays upright. "Anyway," he says, putting forth his best "I'm fine, nothing to see here" face, "she'll be here in about half an hour, I told her the apartment number. Is that okay?"

Mark grins at him as he turns back to the mirror, hairstyling resumed. "That's fine. Is that what you're wearing or are you changing?"

"Wearin' to what?" Jack asks, confused.

Mark pauses in combing his bangs to stare at Jack. "The hell do you--You're coming to the party," Mark says, but then adds uncertainly, "right?"

Jack's eyes widen. "Am I?" he queries, shocked. "Was I even invited?"

Mark opens his mouth to answer, then stops, his brows twisted comically as he thinks it over. "I--Yeah, yes, she totally invited you," is what he goes with, avoiding Jack's eyes.

"Liar," hisses Jack, glaring at him. "What did she say?"

"I don't remember," Mark replies quickly.

Jack stares him down, but Mark ignores him and focuses strictly on his hair. Frustrated to the point of violence, Jack turns and leaves the room, snagging his keys out of the dish in the hall and jamming his feet into his shoes. Mark follows him, grabbing his elbow as he goes to open the front door.

"Where are you going?" Mark demands, pulling him back.

"I wasn't invited, Mark, admit it," Jack snaps. "Admit it!"

"I'm sure she just forgot to add your name in," Mark assures him hurriedly. "It's been just me here for so long, I'm sure that's all it is."

"I see her at least once a week," Jack tells him, and watches with satisfaction as Mark's face falls. "She knows I live here. In fact, I saw her yesterday. But no mention of the party to me. I'm the help," he says bitterly, mostly to himself.

"That's bull," Mark says, tugging him again as Jack tries for the door. "You are not the help, for Christ's sake. You're my best friend. You just also happen to work for me."

"But that's not how others see it," Jack argues. "Adriana sees me as your assistant. Why would she invite an assistant to a party?" Jack sighs, drooping. "We're in completely different social brackets."

"Don't say that," Mark orders, shaking his arm. "Didn't you hear everything I've said to you? You matter to me. Who cares what other people think?"

In a different context, those words are all Jack wants to hear. He swallows, gently removing Mark's hand. "It's okay," Jack says quietly. "I don't care. I thought I wasn't goin' anyway. It's nice to be right once in a while."

Mark grabs his fingers instead. "Stop it," he says firmly. "You're coming. She won't mind."

Jack studies him warily, and sees the stubborn set of his chin. He's not going to budge. "Alright," Jack caves. "Let me go change." Mark lets him go, and he hurries from the foyer to his room. His fingers won't stop tingling.

He changes into dark jeans and a dark green henley shirt, runs a brush through his hair until he's satisfied with the flop of his bangs, and puts on some cologne. He adds some small fake gem plugs in his ears, filling the not often used holes. He exits his room just as the intercom buzzes. 

Mark's finger is still on the button as Jack turns the corner to the entrance hall. "Holly here?"

"Yeah, just buzzed her in," Mark tells him. "She's cute, you were right."

Jack nods but doesn't say anything as he fiddles with the many bands around his wrists.

"You look good," Mark says, drawing Jack's eyes up to see his smile. "Stop fidgeting, you look hot, okay? Those stupid gauges are so cool," Mark adds sourly.

Jack feels his ears grow warm, and he grins. "Thanks. I'm glad you wore that shirt," Jack says, gesturing to his tight blue t-shirt. "Makes you look buff."

"I am buff," Mark sniffs, but then he laughs.

They exit into the hall to wait for Holly at the elevator. The noise from their neighbour is indicating the party is well underway. The elevator light goes on, and the doors open to reveal Holly in a short leather skirt and sexy pink blouse, her hair curled to perfection and her makeup done to a T.

_Fuck,_ Jack thinks bleakly as he watches Mark's eyes widen with interest. "Holly," Jack greets, "good to see you."

She smiles prettily at him as she comes forward, shaking his outstretched hand. "Hey, Jack. How're you doing?"

"Great," Jack tells her, "finally getting that feelin' of my feet underneath me again." She laughs, as she's meant to, and Mark chuckles behind him. "Holly, I'd like you to meet my good friend and boss, Mark Fischbach." He steps back to gesture to Mark, and watches as they come together, right in front of him, and shake hands. 

Mark looks enthralled. Jack's heart cracks.

When they knock on the door, Adriana answers almost immediately in a swanky red low-cut dress that does everything for her body. She smiles widely at Mark. "Honey, there you are! I thought you'd skipped out on me again."

"I was sick last time, you know that," Mark says with a smile. He gestures to Holly. "This is Holly, my date, and you know Jack." 

Adriana's eyes skim from Holly with disinterest to Jack with a mild fire burning behind her irises. "Ah. Jack. I don't believe I remember inviting you," she says bluntly. 

Jack turns accusing eyes on Mark, who ignores him. "I invited him," Mark says pleasantly. "He had nothing to do and he's more than willing to drink your booze."

"Got any Guinness?" Jack queries, making Mark snicker before he covers it with a cough. 

Adriana gives him a filthy look and opens the door to admit them. "Don't touch anything," she hisses at Jack as he passes her. Jack smiles at her, all teeth, and moves on, gravitating to the kitchen. He doesn't care where Mark goes, not tonight.

Jack finds a bottle of Jack (ha) sitting on the counter along with a stack of clean glasses and pours himself a double, downing it immediately and refilling it. An elegant-looking woman behind him says scathingly, "This isn't a mixer, you know." Jack toasts her with his glass and she turns away with a scoff. He takes his second double and ventures out into the party. 

Immediately he's out of his element. The room is full of semi-formally dressed, elegant young people who no doubt roll in money naked before bedtime. He draws the looks of the people nearest him, who almost instantly turn away again with indifference. Jack hovers near the fireplace and sips his whiskey, content to people-watch for the duration of the party.

Some forty minutes later, and on Jack's fourth double whiskey, Jack still hasn't seen Mark or Holly anywhere. Understandable, considering how full the large apartment is of human beings, and how drunk he is. Still, it makes his stomach roll to think what they could be doing. 

A blonde woman looking to be about his age approaches him, a brandy snifter in one decorated hand. Though she's dressed semi-formal in a long but simple black dress, she still looks incredible. Jack lifts his eyebrows at her. "You're te first person here te actually come talk te me," Jack informs her by way of greeting. His Irish tongue is out in full force, but Jack's not even embarrassed by it. That would be the whiskey's doing, he wagers.

She smiles, offering a dainty hand, which Jack takes. "I'm Elizabeth, but most people call me Liz."

"Jack," he replies, letting her hand go. She rests it gently on his arm instead. "What do ye do, Liz?"

"I'm independently wealthy," she says in a coo, idly stroking his arm.

"Neat," Jack says. "I'm an assistant."

All at once Liz is taken aback. "Excuse me?" she says, alarmed.

"Jack!"

He turns, looking out over the crowd to see Mark pulling a pissed-looking Holly behind him across the living room. Right towards him. Jack turns to excuse himself but Liz is already gone. 

"Jack," Mark says again when they're in front of him. "Where'd you go? We've been looking everywhere."

"Yes, we have," Holly agrees hotly. "Instead of enjoying ourselves or, I don't know, talking."

Mark glances at her and then back at Jack. "Where were you?"

"Drinkin'," Jack tells him, downing the rest of his glass. "Right here."

"Who was that woman who was here?" Mark persists, looking more than a little peeved.

"Liz," Jack replies. "She left when I told 'er I was an assistant." 

Mark sighs, looking Jack over. "You're blitzed. Why don't you go home and rest?"

"Yes, do," Holly insists. "You look practically dead."

Jack stares at her, wondering where all her sudden hostility is coming from. His cerebral gears are a bit gunked up at the moment. "Thanks, you too." Holly's eyes blaze with temper. "I'm havin' a wonderful time, by the way. It's like watchin' peacocks matin' in here. Can' decide where the feathers end an' the pretentiousness begins." 

Mark covers his grin when he sees Holly's face. "Seriously, maybe you should go lie down, Jack."

"'M not goin' anywhere," Jack says mulishly. "Well, except te top this bastard off." He gestures to his empty glass.

Mark takes his glass from him, ignoring Jack's irritated, "Hey!", and sets it on the fireplace mantle. Then he's taking Jack by the arm and steering him out of the apartment, leaving Holly to her own devices.

Jack wriggles the whole way, but being drunk and two-thirds Mark's size, he doesn't get very far. Mark apologizes to people that either of them hit on the way out as they pass by, and then they're out the front door and in the empty hall.

Mark looks down at him--dare Jack say it--fondly. "C'mon, Jack, you were not having a good time in there."

Pouting, Jack admits, "Fine, I wasn'. But I'm drunk so I don' care."

"Yes, I can see that," Mark laughs, pulling him to their apartment.

"Hey, no, I don' wanna go home," Jack whines, tugging at Mark's hand.

Mark sighs, hauling him along, undeterred. "You're such a baby."

Jack deadweights suddenly and nearly topples them both. Mark just barely catches him a few scant inches from the floor.

"Wow, tha's impressive," Jack awes, staring up at him.

Scowling now, Mark hefts him up to his feet, then throws Jack over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Jack makes a _whoomf_ sound as his gut hits Mark's shoulder, then starts wriggling his legs. Mark just pins them with his arm.

Defeated, Jack hangs there and stares upside-down at Mark's ass. For a long moment he enjoys the view, but being hammered and inverted is not agreeing with any part of him. Suppose he just... Jack takes both hands and squeezes an ass cheek with each.

Mark jumps, dropping him sideways with a cry. Jack hits the floor hard on his arm with a groan. Falling and hitting a hard floor doesn't much agree with him either.

"Jack!" Mark exclaims, immediately crouching down to him.

"No, 'm fine," Jack wheezes, waving him away. "Jus' leave me here, tha's good."

"Jack," Mark says again, a reprimand. He slips his arms beneath Jack's shoulders and his knees, lifting him up bridal-style. Jack's heart flutters when he smells Mark's cologne.

"Put me down," Jack mumbles. "I can walk."

"Clearly," Mark says dryly. He shifts Jack into his right arm, tight against his side, to unlock the door. Jack pushes it open when he unlocks it, and they cross the threshold. "Jack, can you find the light?"

"No," Jack says without looking, staring up at Mark instead. His hair's mussed, no longer perfect like it was when they left. His brow is tight, drawn too low over his eyes. Without thinking Jack reaches up and smoothes his fingers over Mark's brow, right in the centre. "Why the frown wrinkles, mister? What have you got te frown over?"

Mark looks down at him in surprise. "Lots of things," Mark shrugs, shutting the door and encasing them in darkness. "You, for instance."

"Me," Jack says, at a loss for words. He lets Mark set him down on his feet and stays where he's put as Mark slides a hand down the wall for the light switch. The hall bursts into light, and Mark turns back to the door.

"Get some water, go to bed, and I'll see you in the morning," Mark tells him.

Jack nods numbly, already turning away. He makes Mark frown. Why does he make Mark frown?

"Hey," Mark says softly, but Jack doesn't stop. "Hey," he says a little louder, following.

"You've got a date waitin'," Jack reminds him, bee-lining for the fridge.

"I don't care," Mark growls, shutting the fridge door when Jack opens it. "What is with you?"

"Nothin'," Jack gripes, yanking on the door handle. "Can I have a glass of fockin' water or what?"

"No, you can't," Mark snaps, "not until you answer me. What's going on? Why did you ditch me and get drunk tonight?"

"Why?" Jack barks. "Why? How about 'cause you dragged me te a party I wasn' invited te, wasn' wanted at, and didn' want te go to? 'Cause I was watched like a thief in a museum, treated like a leper or a frat boy or bot', and as soon as I opened my mout' and proved I wasn' money, anyone who talked te me ran away." Jack turns from the fridge and stumbles around the island in the semi-dark. 

"Wh--Okay, then why did you come at all?" Mark demands. "If you were just going to be sour and drink the whole night, why did you even bother coming?"

"Because you asked me to!" Jack shouts at him. Mark's eyebrows go up. "'Cause I t'ought it might make it wort' it since you were there." He makes for the hallway but Mark stops him, a hand on his chest.

"Jack," he says quietly, "do you--"

There's a loud knock on the door, repetitive and hard, making them both turn and look. "You better get that," Jack mumbles, easing past him into the kitchen.

"Don't go anywhere," Mark says, pointing a finger at him as he walks away. "We're not done talking."

Jack grunts, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and chugging it right there. He hears the door open, and Mark's voice, "Holly, I--"

"Save it, you loser," her voice snaps. "I only came by to tell you I'm leaving. Thanks for the rotten night." The door slams.

After a long moment, Mark drifts back into the living room, looking a little put out.

"Sorry," Jack offers, though he's not sure he actually is. "I could tell ye liked her."

"I had a funny way of showing it, I guess," Mark grumbles, coming up to him. "Anyways, we were--"

"Done," Jack finishes, shoving him gently to the side and walking past. Mark snags him around the middle. "What--"

"Listen to me," Mark says seriously, the light from the hall casting a warm, shallow glow over him. "Whatever you're going through, whatever you're hiding from me, I want to help."

Jack laughs hollowly. "You can' help wit' this one, Mark, no matter how much you want te."

Mark's face clouds over. "I asked you once if I could trust you. Now I'm not so sure, if you insist on keeping things from me."

_A knife must be in my heart,_ Jack thinks crazily, _for it to hurt this much._ "Trust me, this isn' a secret you want te know."

"Try me," Mark orders, his tone not really leaving room for arguments.

Jack sighs, a quiet and final sound. "Then let go o' me," he requests, and Mark does. He glances up at the brunet, then says to his shoes, "This will change how ye see me."

"Tell me anyway," Mark insists, shifting impatiently.

Jack's hands are clenched so hard he can feel the nails piercing his skin. "I love you." He waits, not daring to look up. When it's over a minute later and Mark hasn't said anything, Jack hedges, "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," Mark whispers beside him, barely there. 

Jack nods, squeezing his eyes shut, waiting. 

"I... I don't..." Mark tries, but then pauses. 

"I know," Jack says, and his voice is forlorn. "I know you don'. Pretend this didn' happen. I'll see you in the mornin'." Quickly, before Mark can snag him again, he's bolting for his room and closing the door behind him.

Leaning back against the door, Jack clasps both hands over his mouth to stifle the sob that creeps out. He sheds his clothes in a heap, crawling into bed naked and huddling under his blankets like a child.

He doesn't sleep for hours.

 

In the morning, Jack wakes early as usual. With vivid clarity and all at once, he remembers what happened with Mark last night, and his hangover reminds him how much he drank. He gets up, groaning as his stomach revolts hugely at the idea. He dresses in pyjamas and leaves his room to stumble to the bathroom.

Jack relieves himself and showers, and that cures at least his grogginess and half of his headache. In the mirror he sees a haggard man with too much deadness in his eyes. He practices smiling for a while, pinching his cheeks, scrunching and stretching his facial expressions. Jack doesn't spend time on his hair or beard, instead brushing his teeth twice and dressing in clean clothes.

Yawning, he shuffles into the kitchen, refilling and starting the coffee machine. Next, Jack starts pulling out frying pans and ingredients for breakfast. At about eight thirty he hears Mark moving around, so he pulls out his phone and checks his calendar for the day as he scrambles eggs, fries bacon and sears hash browns. Not a lot on the agenda, he could probably take most of the day off. 

Mark plods into the bathroom, soon exiting again and coming to the kitchen. He flops into a chair at the table as he adjusts his robe. "G'morning," Mark mumbles. 

"Mornin'," Jack greets, turning and smiling. Mark doesn't smile back. _Grin and bear it,_ Jack tells himself. He dishes up food on a large plate and sets it in front of Mark with utensils and coffee. Digging in, Mark mumbles what could be a 'thank you' but sounds more like a bisyllabic grunt. Jack smiles to himself helplessly, walking back to the kitchen.

"Aren't you eating?" Mark asks, and Jack turns to him, surprised. "You don't have a place set for you. Aren't you hungry?"

Jack thinks of eating and his stomach strongly disagrees. He shakes his head. "Not yet. I'll make an early lunch or somethin'." He turns back to the sink, frowning as he starts the dishes. Mark hasn't really noticed before if Jack didn't always join him in eating. To be fair, about half of the time that happens Mark has taken his meal to the office to work while he eats. But he still hasn't ever said anything to Jack about it.

"Do we have anything to do today?" Mark asks from right behind him.

Jack shrieks and drops the container he's holding--thankfully it's just the leftover bacon--whirling around to face Mark, who really is _right there_. "Christ, Mark, would you fockin' warn a guy?" he says in exasperation, his heart beating him to death.

It looks like Mark is fighting a smile, but then he asks again, "Do we have anything to do today?"

Sighing, Jack relaxes, backing up as far as he can against the counter. "No, not much. You have a deadline in two days, and you really should call your mom, but otherwise you're free."

Mark's eyebrows lower a bit. "Have you been talking to my mom?"

"She calls me if you don't pick up," Jack explains quickly, "to make sure you're alright." He looks away from the stony expression on Mark's face. "And she mentions that you should call her more, and she also has warned me if I don't somehow get you to Cincinnati for Thomas' birthday then she will maim us both."

"Hmm." Mark studies him for a long moment, then leaves the kitchen and disappears into the hallway.

Jack breathes a sigh of relief, rushing through the rest of cleaning up so as not to be snuck up on again. He's shutting the fridge door as Mark comes back in, fully dressed and on the phone.

"... not because I'm mad at you, Mom," Mark is saying, sitting down at the table again. "No, I've just been really busy with wor--Mom, I said I would come, didn't I?"

Smiling, Jack excuses himself with a wave and goes to his room in search of a book. The chores are done, Mark's been fed, his emails have been read and dealt with, and he wants a couple hours with Robert Frost. He's heading to the living room when he overhears Mark still on the phone.

"... just business, Mom. It's not like that with us, he works for me." 

Jack freezes in the hall. Did Mark's mom ask him about Jack? Why? He hates himself for it, but he sneaks down the hall until Mark is out of view and listens.

"Yes," Mark continues, "I can honestly say that there's nothing there. I don't need to ask him, I just know." Mark's silent for a long time, then he says tightly, "He hasn't said anything, Mom, you're just seeing things that aren't there."

Slowly Jack slides down the wall until his butt hits the floor. He's denying everything. Mark refuses to see Jack as anything more than a good friend--or as Mark put it, Jack just works for him. Jack knew it was always very likely to be true, but he'd thought he meant just a little more to Mark than that. At least enough to respect Jack's feelings if he can't act on them.

"I'm sure," Mark says. "Yeah, I'll be leaving next week then. I'll get a flight out on Saturday morning probably, I'll get Jack to check the times for me." He pauses, in which time Jack does not pull out his phone to check flights for LA to Cincinnati. "No, I'll get a rental--" Jack does not also search rental cars in Cincinnati "--so don't worry. Tell Thomas hi. Bye, Mom."

Jack hears a heavy sigh from the other room, followed by footsteps, but he doesn't move. He's got his head in his hands when Mark comes around the corner.

"Jack?" he asks, confused. "Are you okay?" Then, immediately after, "Did you--"

"Yes," Jack mutters without looking up. He gets up and walks around Mark to his room.

Mark catches him by the shoulder before he can disappear behind the door. "Hey, you can't just eavesdrop on me."

"Sorry," Jack says tonelessly. He looks at Mark, letting everything show. "We didn't have to ever bring it up again. I would've been fine with that. But I didn't expect you to feed bullshit to your mother just so you didn't have to talk about it." He shoves Mark off and shuts his bedroom door behind him.

"Jack," Mark sighs through the wood. "I didn't mean to lie to her, I just don't want anyone to know. It would make things awkward if anyone knew that you... feel that way."

"Awkward for who?" Jack snaps, a foot from the door. "For me or you?"

"Both of us," Mark argues. "Come on, you know it would bother you if people knew, especially since..."

"Since you don't feel the same?" Jack guesses with a sinking heart.

"Right," Mark says quietly.

Jack chews his lip, finally saying, "I don't want to ruin what we had, Mark. That's why I was never goin' to tell you. Can we just... Can we go back to before, where we were just best friends and nothin' else?"

"I want to," Mark says immediately, "but I mean, can you handle that?"

"I'm goin' to handle it, no matter what," Jack insists. Hesitantly he opens the door. Mark's there, looking halfway to miserable with his hair tufting everywhere. He must've been threading nervous hands through it, a habit of his. "I can handle it. I promise."

Mark smiles crookedly at him. "Okay then." He inhales, running his hand through his hair and mussing it up more. "So, now that that's over, do you want to come with me to Cincinnati?"

Jack's eyebrows shoot to his hairline. "Your mom invited me?"

"How'd you know?" Mark laughs.

"Dude, she's been callin' me daily. Me and Mom are tight." Jack smirks.

Mark laughs harder. "That's a yes, then."

"Cincinnati, here we come," Jack muses with a chuckle. 

 

The airport is crowded but manageable as Jack and Mark enter from the parkade, each equipped with a small suitcase and carryon. Jack leads the way, tickets in hand, and soon they're admitted into the airport and their suitcases are carried off on a conveyor belt. Mark's quiet the whole way as Jack leads them to their gate.

"This one," Jack says, stopping at Gate 22. He puts his bag on a seat and sits next to it, pausing when Mark doesn't sit. "Mark?"

"Yeah," he says, startled out of some stupor. He moves to sit next to Jack, setting his bag on the floor.

Jack studies him. "What's goin' on, man?"

Mark moves one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I just know that Mom is gonna be embarrassing."

"Ah, that's what moms do," Jack says easily, idly responding to an email. "My ma was always a pain, me bein' the baby of five."

Mark gives him a bittersweet smile, massaging his left hand with his right. "Being the baby is a unique kind of hell sometimes."

"You're not wrong," Jack laughs. "Don't worry about it. If your mom pulls out the photo albums I'll contain myself and only look through half of them."

Mark smirks, shoving Jack playfully. "Watch it, McLoughlin, I'll fight you and I'll win."

Jack smirks devilishly. "Ooh, spank me harder, Daddy," he cries out, drawing the attention of several nearby travellers. Mark jolts and slaps both hands over his mouth, laughing helplessly even as Jack moans loudly behind his hands.

"Stop, stop, oh my God," Mark orders, avoiding the eyes of a particularly shrewish-looking woman and her husband. He ruins it by laughing as her eyes nearly bug out of her skull when Jack starts sucking on Mark's fingers. He pulls his hands away, slapping at Jack's leg. "Quit it, or I'll go after yer lucky charms," Mark warns, wiping his fingers on his shirt.

"I'll behave," Jack promises. "But I win." He grins and wiggles his fingers at the lady, who turns and tries to get the attention of airport security. "We should stop lookin' at her, though. She's bein' a tattle-tale."

Mark quickly turns around to face Jack, biting his lip and snickering. Jack lets himself marvel at him for a second before he grins. "Straight face, dude, or you'll give us away," Jack tells him sternly.

Mark nods, immediately letting out a guffaw. Jack slaps his chest. Mark pantomimes zipping his lips and takes out his phone. Jack does the same, glancing up to see that airport security has apparently ignored the woman anyway. Jack wastes time by playing solitaire on an app, and when he peeks over at Mark's phone he's playing Minecraft for mobile. 

He's beaten three rounds in a row (after a seven game losing streak) when they call the flight. Jack nudges Mark, who put in earbuds soon after starting his game. Mark pulls them out and Jack tells him, "They've called our flight, babycakes."

"Thanks, sugarplum," Mark says, patting Jack's ass as he stands. 

Turning, Jack squints down at Mark. Rather than the heart-wrenching lurch he usually feels when Mark touches him playfully, Jack is giddy with it. "Are you tryin' to have a gay-off? Because wow, so gay."

"You started this and you know it," Mark says, standing. "I'm prepared to be the gayest there is."

"Oh, it's on," Jack growls, grinning widely. "I'll outgay you, don't think I won't. I am actually half gay, so I have you at a disadvantage."

Mark laughs, winking at him as he walks past. "Hurry up, then."

On the plane, Jack is storing his carryon up above when Mark passes behind him, purposely dragging his palm across the exposed small of Jack's back. He shivers visibly and nearly drops his bag, catching it clumsily and shoving the bag in the compartment before Mark can do it again. Jack gives him a nasty look, which Mark pretends not to see.

Mark has the window seat, which is fine with Jack considering, now that he's actually on a plane with no more barriers or distractions, he doesn't even want to think about how high up he's about to be. He's fidgeting hard with his wristbands when Mark taps his leg. "You okay?" Mark asks him.

"Totally fine," Jack assures him. He claws his hands into his thighs as the flight attendants go through the exit procedures and holds his breath, only letting it out when Mark jabs him in the ribs. 

"Are you afraid of flying?" Mark asks seriously.

"Technically, no, I'm just afraid of bein' far away from ground in general," Jack rambles. "Oh, Jesus, why the fock do they have to show us this, it's like educatin' pigs before they're--"

"Jack," Mark interrupts, "just look at me." When Jack doesn't move, Mark grabs his face and pulls Jack to face him. "You're fine. Do you trust me?"

"Yes, but--" Jack starts.

"Then trust me when I say we will not crash," Mark urges, letting his hands drop to Jack's shoulders. "The chances of crashing are less likely than getting hit by lightning."

"You're sure?" Jack asks, hanging onto his forearms with an iron grip. The attendants are done with the demonstration, and the plane is beginning to taxi down the runway. Jack watches out the tiny window behind Mark as the tarmac starts moving. Jack sucks in a terrified breath. 

"Hey, hey, look at me," Mark tells him, nodding when Jack complies, looking away from the window and at Mark. "You're going to be fine. I'm right here if you start freaking out. Just look at me, okay?"

"Okay," Jack whispers. 

Mark shifts a little in his seat but doesn't move his hands. "How'd you survive the flight from Ireland?" he asks.

Despite his fear, Jack chuckles. "There was a little girl sittin' next to me. The whole way, she held my hand and talked to me. Her ma was really sweet about it, 'cause I thought I might look like a pedophile. But they were nice."

"Well," Mark says, "I'm no little girl, but I can talk and hold hands just like one." He smiles at Jack when he laughs. "There, now I just need to keep you entertained for about four more hours." 

Jack shrugs, slowly letting his fingers loosen until his hands sit in his lap. "I should be okay once we're at height," he murmurs. "I got a little better last time. It was the turbulence that really messed with me." 

"Alright, well, until then," Mark says, removing his hands from Jack's shoulders and offering his left hand to him.

Gratefully Jack grabs his hand, interlacing their fingers and holding on firmly. "Thank you," he says quietly. 

"Who wins the gay-off if we consensually hold hands?" Mark asks him some time later, once they're well on their way to Cincinnati. Jack hasn't let him go.

"I think we both lose," Jack says wryly. "I should, um, be okay, if you want your hand back."

"I'm good," Mark says, working his phone one-handed as he plays free cell. His fingers squeeze Jack's lightly, and Jack glances up to meet Mark's eyes. "I don't hate this," he says softly.

"This?" Jack asks in a hushed tone, his eyes widening. 

In answer, Mark lifts their joined hands. "This," Mark clarifies with a tiny smile. 

Jack's breath catches. "That... could just mean you're lonely," he says hesitantly. His heart beats harder at the mere notion that Mark likes holding his hand.

Mark frowns. "I don't hold hands as it is," he tells Jack. "Even when I date."

"Sorry," Jack says, unsure what else to say. He lets Mark's hand go and wriggles free.

"That's not what I meant," Mark says, exasperated. "Give me your hand."

"No," Jack says petulantly, tucking both hands under his arms. 

"Give me your hand," Mark growls, setting Jack's hair on end. "Gimme your hand!" Mark orders when Jack doesn't move. "I swear, Jack, you--"

"Can I get you anything to drink?" a pretty brunette flight attendant asks politely from the aisle, a trolley before her.

"Have you got any liquor?" Jack asks immediately, turning to her.

"Yes, we have several different kinds," she begins, ducking to check the proper compartment on the trolley. "There's vodka, rum, whiskey--"

"Two whiskeys," Jack rushes out, feeling Mark's eyes burning holes in the back of his neck. She hands him two tiny bottles of whiskey and a cola to go with it in a plastic cup.

"And you, sir?" she asks Mark.

"Water," he grits out, his eyes on Jack. She hands him a small bottle of water and moves on. 

The second she's gone, Jack twists off both caps and tips the bottles until they empty into his mouth. He's barely swallowed when Mark grabs his wrist.

"Are you trying to irritate me?" Mark asks him, his brow furrowed.

"No," Jack assures him, hands raised placatingly in front of him. "I'm tryin' to get drunk so I don't want to hold your hand anymore."

"Solid strategy," Mark muses dryly.

After five minutes the whiskey hits and all Jack wants to do is hold Mark's goddamn hand. He squirms in his seat, fiddling on his phone playing solitaire again, but every few seconds he's glancing over to Mark. Jack can't even be bothered much by the whole airplane thing right then. It's likely the alcohol, but everything just seems easier with Mark around. He's a cushion in between Jack and his fears.

Jack swallows for the tenth time in a minute and stares down at his phone. His leg won't stop bouncing. He digs his nails into it, forcing it to stay still.

"If this is what you were like on the plane from Ireland," Mark says, nonchalant, "then no wonder that girl started comforting you. I'm halfway to strangling you if you don't let me poke you or something."

That startles a nervous laugh out of Jack. "I was worse than this, if you can imagine," he tells Mark. "Jumpy as hell, and paranoid."

"Well, I wasn't there to be extremely helpful, unfortunately," Mark simpers, breaking the façade by smiling. "Why don't you try getting some sleep?"

Jack shrugs. "I don't usually sleep well in strange places."

"Here," Mark says, beckoning him to sit straight. Jack does, confused, and Mark manhandles him to rest his head on Mark's shoulder. "How about that?"

"Is this okay?" Jack asks, even as he gets comfortable. His fingers itch to grip Mark's hand, his sleeve, but Jack keeps them clenched tight into fists. When he feels Mark nod, he adds, "You're bein' so nice today."

"I'm always nice," Mark says defensively. He slips his arm around Jack's shoulders casually. "See? Look how nice I'm being."

Jack inhales sharply as Mark squishes Jack to his side. "Okay, I get it, you're nice. Now you're just playin' gay chicken again, and we both know I'll win that."

Mark dips his head so his lips graze Jack's ear. "Who's playing?" he murmurs lowly.

Jack's skin shimmers with feeling all the way down his back. He turns his head away and tries to sit up, but Mark's arm holds him in place. Jack's heart blips when Mark's hand loops around his side to splay on his chest. Jack's bones start to boil when that hand strokes down low to his stomach.

"You are a cruel, twisted man," Jack says, grabbing Mark's hand and lifting it. "You gay chickener."

Mark leans in until his nose brushes Jack's neck. "And I'm winning, too." While Jack is distracted, Mark's left hand slides under Jack's shirt and across his abdomen.

"Okay," Jack squeaks, batting at his hand like a fly. Seeing that's not working, Jack uses both hands to dislodge the creeping hand on his stomach and wiggle out from underneath Mark's arm. "Christ, you win, you fiend."

"Good," Mark smirks, "and as winner I demand you hold my hand before I break your leg." He nods indicatively to Jack's lap, where his leg still bounces. "And go to sleep while you're at it."

"I told you, I can't--" Jack protests.

"Trust me," Mark says, folding up the arm rest between them. Jack blushes when Mark lifts his arm invitingly. "No funny business this time, promise."

Cautiously Jack leans back into Mark's chest, nestling under his arm. He lifts a hand to thread together with the one around his side and snuggles up. "This doesn't mean I forgive you," Jack warns him.

"Noted," Mark laughs. "Should I sing to you, pumpkin?"

"Yeah," Jack says slowly, "maybe California King Bed?" He feels Mark stiffen and snickers. 

"Do you... always hear me when I sing in the shower?" Mark hazards. Jack glances up and sees that Mark's cheeks are pink.

"Can you feel the love tonight," Jack turns his head and sings quietly in his ear. "What peace the evenin' brings--"

"Enough," Mark groans, but he's smiling. "To sleep. Now."

"I'm tellin' you, I don't do random nappin'," Jack says, his eyes drooping as he inhales the smell of Mark's cologne.

Mark brings his other arm around to envelop Jack in a light embrace. "Uh huh," Mark says, disbelieving. 

"Won't get no sleep tonight," Jack half-sings, half-mumbles. 

"Go to sleep, Jack," Mark whispers, and he does.

 

The landing is what wakes him up, thrusting him suddenly back into reality. Jack blinks several times before he tries to sit up and can't. Mark's got both arms around him, loosely clutching the material of his sweater. The man himself is fast asleep, head leaning back against the seat.

"Mark, wake up," Jack grunts, yawning. He gives a little wiggle. "C'mon, Mark, lemme go."

Slowly, Mark rouses, inhaling deeply and curving his back in a long stretch. He opens his eyes and peeks down at Jack, trapped against his chest. "You fell asleep."

"So did you," Jack shoots back. "I think we've just landed. C'mon, let go, everyone is lookin'." And they were. The people across the aisle in either direction, all the ones that could see him, were staring.

Mark drops his face into Jack's neck and snuffles, making Jack squirm and giggle. "You're like a little body pillow."

"And you're like a space heater," Jack laughs, pushing at his face. "Would'ja let me go, you arse?"

With a heaving sigh Mark relaxes his arms and Jack sits up. "Just because I'm a nice guy."

Jack gives him a long look as they wait for the plane to taxi to a terminal. "You know, Mark," he begins, glancing up and then away again, "not that I'm mindin' all the attention, but you seem like you're... in need of comfort? You're clingy, especially for you."

Mark stares out the window before eventually answering, "I probably am. It's been a long time."

"Since you've been home?" Jack asks.

"Yes," Mark replies, lips quirked. "And since I've had sex."

"Right," Jack nods, flushing. "Well, same boat. We can paddle to Lonely Island together."

"You fucker," Mark laughs. "Good wordplay."

After the plane taxis, Mark and Jack wait for people to file out and then step into the aisle to gather their things from the overhead storage. As Jack's lowering both their bags himself Mark is suddenly behind him, brushing up against him and taking the bags out of his hands. He slings them over his shoulders and gestures for Jack to lead the way. Red-faced, Jack walks ahead.

They find baggage claim easily enough, and afterwards Jack finds his way to the front of the airport without trouble. He looks around for where the shuttles are, to drive travellers to the rental car lot. Jack finds an empty shuttle labeled for the rental company that Jack reserved under and he climbs in, Mark not far behind. The drive is a short five minutes and they're silent for most of the way.

The second they arrive Jack thanks the shuttle driver and ushers Mark out of the vehicle. Jack double-checks that they have everything and they walk into the building. The interior is nicely decorated and brightly lit thanks to the large front windows. Jack heads for the front desk.

"Hello, how can I help you?" the receptionist asks pleasantly.

"Hi," Jack says with a smile. "We've got a reserved car under the name Fischbach."

"Just a moment," the receptionist says, clicking on her computer. "Yes, I have it here. Just sign this form, and I'll need a driver's license to photocopy." She places a blank form on the desk and Mark hands her his license, then signs the document after briefly reading it. The receptionist scans his card, a sheet prints out, and she staples everything together after handing his card back. "Excellent. Here is the key. I could have an attendant drive it up for you?"

"Not necessary," Mark says, smiling shortly. "Thank you." He picks up his suitcase and bag and heads back out to the car lot, Jack following close behind.

They've been on the road for at least twenty minutes when Mark says abruptly, "I'm going to go ahead and apologize in advance for my brother. And mother. For both of them and their behaviour."

Jack looks up from his email to see Mark clenching the steering wheel. "I'm sure they'll be fine. You make me out to be some delicate flower."

"I just wanted to say that, in case they say or do something insensitive, or embarrassing," Mark says wearily. "Thomas especially can be... direct."

Studying Mark's arms as they flex when he makes a turn, Jack says idly, "I'll survive." He'll survive the family, sure. But if Mark keeps getting handsy, what will he do? Jack can only push him away for so long. He doesn't even want to in the first place.

They pull up to Mark's childhood home behind another car in the driveway and park. For a long moment, Mark stares through the windshield at the house, and then Jack puts his hand on his arm and says gently, "C'mon." He gets out the passenger side and retrieves his bags, glad when Mark joins him.

The front door opens and a short Asian woman, Mark's mother, stands on the step. Mark hurries to the step with Jack trailing behind. Mark swoops down and hugs his mother, lifting her off the ground. 

"You stop that," she says, heavily accented, as he puts her down with a grin. "Come in. I just finish making supper."

She leads the way into the house, Mark following and Jack bringing up the rear. He shuts the door behind him and leaves his bags, as Mark has, inside the living room. Jack follows Mark and enters a dated but homey kitchen, where the three Fischbachs are sitting, and hovers uncertainly in the doorway.

Mark's mother looks up from dishing up food and sees him. "You Jack?" Jack nods. She smiles. "Good to meet you. Sit down. You eat."

"Hi," Thomas says from the opposite end of the table. "I'm Tom."

"Good meetin' you," Jack says, nervous. He lingers by Mark's shoulder, but he's pulled down into a chair by the youngest Fischbach.

"Sit down, stay a while," Mark muses, but his eyes ask if Jack's okay.

Jack gives Mark the slightest of nods and thanks Mrs. Fischbach when she puts a bowl of stew in front of him. Mark is immediately consumed with the task of consuming, leaving him as unreliable dinner conversation.

"So, Jack," Tom says after the first few mouthfuls, "you work for idiot over here?"

"Friends first, but yes, I manage his sad life," Jack smirks.

"I can still hear you," Mark says after swallowing. He glowers at the two of them.

"Is he dating anyone yet?" Tom asks Jack, ignoring his brother. "Been ages since we met a girl of his."

"Can you not?" Mark says, throwing a potato piece across the table at his older brother. "I'm dating, alright? Just not very well. None of them have been 'take home' material."

Jack feels the familiar squeeze in his chest. _Jealousy is not a virtue,_ he tells himself harshly.

"Jack," Mrs. Fischbach says, "you not eating. You sick?"

"No, no," Jack assures her. "Just not as fast as Mark." He spoons up some stew and eats it pointedly. The table is quiet for a few minutes as everyone eats, the sound of spoons clinking on bowls filling the room. When Mark gets up for seconds, Jack hurriedly says, "Here, have mine."

Surprisingly Mark shakes his head. "Eat it," he tells Jack. "You need it, you're too skinny."

Jack flushes when Tom laughs and says, "I can't decide which of you is cuter."

Mark shrugs, brushing a hand over Jack's hair and ruffling it as he passes him. "Clearly it's Irish Thunder, here."

"Don't make me hurt you, Mark," Jack says, pointing a warning finger at him.

"Eat," Mark commands, ladling stew into his bowl from the pot on the stove. He comes back to the table and sits, giving Jack a significant look when he sees he hasn't eaten.

Grumpily Jack lifts a spoonful to his mouth. He finishes his bowl under Mark's, and Mrs. Fischbach's, watchful eyes. Admittedly, Jack feels a little better with a full stomach.

Jack starts clearing the table before Mrs. Fischbach says primly, "Sit. You are guest. Go watch bad TV with Mark." She stands and takes the dishes out of his hands, shooing him from the kitchen. Mark follows him, grinning.

"Told you she was a pain," he says, leading the way to the living room.

"She's alright," Jack says, a little wistful. Mark glances back at him and Jack rushes out, "Ah, so how about a tour?"

Mark beckons him down the hallway off the living room, passing the first two doors. "Bathroom," Mark says, gesturing to the second door. "This is Tom's room," he says, nodding to the first door. He carries on to the end of the hall. The last three doors he explains, "On the left is Mom's room. This is a closet," Mark chuckles, tapping the wood of the door directly in front of them. "And this is my room." He pushes open the last door on the right, and Jack smiles.

The bedroom is painted dark blue, all the way across the ceiling. The walls are covered with sticky glow-in-the-dark stars, planets and moons. On any available shelf are knickknacks, some sciencey and some not, books galore, and picture frames. Wandering in, Jack smiles wider as he sees trophies lining one shelf over Mark's bed. He runs a finger along the nearest shelf, staring at the picture there of Mark. He's maybe ten years old, grinning happily into the camera, standing with a dark-haired man so much his likeness that it could only be his father.

"He died a few years ago," Mark says behind him, because the question is on Jack's face. "Cancer."

Jack nods, looking away. "I didn't mean to..."

"Snoop?" Mark says, amused. "Don't worry. It's okay." He walks into the room and sits on his childhood bed, looking around. "It's weird being back here. It's been so long since I've been home."

"Why?" Jack asks, sitting next to him.

Mark shrugs. "Timing, mostly. Mom and Tom always had something going on when I was swamped with deadlines. It just made things easier not to worry about it, and decline going."

"That's bullshit," Jack tells him, startling Mark into looking at him. "You didn't come back here because you were scared to without dates, or someone to cushion the contact."

For a long moment Mark stares at him, but then he relents, sighing, "Yeah. You're right. It's hard coming home sometimes. Reminds me of a lot of things, like what I don't want in my marriage, and what I want my own home to feel like."

Jack fidgets, warily glancing at Mark from beneath his lashes. He won't ask, he won't-- "What do you want in your marriage?"

"Love, understanding, some higher degree of trust," Mark lists with another shrug. "It wouldn't hurt to have a lot in common, and I'd want to be a priority to her."

Jack nods, ignoring the thorns in his heart. "That sounds like everything a marriage ought to be."

Mark half-smiles. "You'd think, huh? Well, I thought my parents had all that, but they still split up."

"Some parents just do," Jack sighs. "People grow apart even if they don't mean to."

"Not us," Mark says with a grin, sliding an arm around Jack and pulling him tight to Mark. "I'd probably die without you around. And you clearly need me. I mean, I'm smart, handsome, so charming. The list goes on."

"Oh, truly," Jack simpers, snuggling up to Mark's chest and staring up at him with big eyes. "You're more than a full-blooded Irishman could ask for."

"Yeah?" Mark murmurs, his smile sanguine and slow. If Jack didn't know any better, he'd swear Mark's head was lowering.

Just as Jack registers that Mark's eyes are close, far too close (not close enough) Tom knocks on the open door, snapping their attention to him. "You two done flirting? Mom wants to watch Wheel of Fortune with you." He smirks as he leaves the room.

Mark's arm slips away and Jack scoots over a couple inches. "Maybe no gay chicken until we leave your mom's," Jack suggests without looking up. "It'll be hard to convince them you don't feel that way if they catch you molestin' me."

"Too true," Mark says, standing. His face is like stone, and whatever else Jack was going to say dies on his tongue. Jack follows him from the bedroom and into the living room where Tom and Mrs. Fischbach are already seated, watching Wheel of Fortune. Mark takes a spot on the couch with his brother, so Jack takes the empty love seat to himself. He knows when he's not wanted. He refrains from looking at Mark, or Tom, or Mrs. Fischbach. Instead, Jack watches Wheel of Fortune like his life depends on it.

When the show is ending and Pat Sajak and Vana White have their witty fifteen-second banter, Jack excuses himself to the bathroom. He relieves himself, splashes cold water on his face, and fixes his hair. Jack stares at the man in the mirror and asks him, "What are you doin' here?"

"Seeing my brother's family, I thought," Tom says, pushing the ajar bathroom door open. 

Jack freezes, looking over hesitantly. This man is like a jack-in-the-box. "I--"

"Save it," Tom suggests, not unkindly. "You're very obviously infatuated with him. But I wonder how my little brother feels."

"I'll save you the trouble of harassin' him," Jack says with a hard exhale. "He is my best friend. And that's it."

"So, what I walked in on not long ago was, what?" Tom wonders. "Some kind of pocket out of time?"

Jack shrugs, turning away from Tom and his own reflection. "Mark and I have gotten ourselves into a heated round of gay chicken. He's intent on winnin', despite knowin' I'm actually kind of gay."

"Kind of gay?" Tom repeats.

"Bisexual," Jack answers, and Tom nods. "Anyway, if you could let me by..."

"I'll be blunt, Jack," Tom says, instead of moving aside. "Mark hasn't brought a girl home in a long while, or any friends. I wager you're special to him."

"Yes," Jack agrees, but when he smiles it's stiff. "We're best friends. We're very close."

Tom studies him for a long second, then stands aside so Jack can hurry past him into the hall. Jack heads for the living room, sitting back on the love seat somewhat woodenly. Mark barely looks up from his phone. 

Mrs. Fischbach says to Mark, "Put phone away, you have company." When he just grunts in response, Mrs. Fischbach sighs and looks at Jack. "Well, you come with me then. We cook. You cook, yes?"

Jack nods eagerly, shooting off the cushion to follow her into the kitchen. She arms him with his own apron--"Kiss the Cook", how original--and sets him to work in a bowl of already prepared dough.

"Pie dough, pizza dough, bread dough?" Jack wonders, kneading it in the bowl.

"Bread," Mrs. Fischbach answers. "We make homemade bread. Mark take some with him when you go."

Nodding, Jack sets to work on kneading the dough until it's to Mrs. Fischbach's (and his own) satisfaction, then greases a loaf pan with butter, sets the dough inside and covers it with a towel, setting it alongside the other already completed pans sitting on the counter waiting to rise. When he's finished the last dough ball, Mrs. Fischbach brings him over to her standing mixer where she's begun to add ingredients. 

"You know how make cookies?" she asks, eyeing him. Jack nods, and she smiles. "Good. Here you go." She steps aside, and Jack follows the recipe she points out in her cookbook, laid open beside the mixer, for sugar cookies. 

Some forty minutes later, Jack is powdered in flour and elbow-deep in sugar cookie cutters, cutting various shapes out of his thin sheet of dough when Mark enters the kitchen.

"Mom, what are you doing?" Mark asks immediately. "Jack is a guest."

"That's funny," Mrs. Fischbach says, her dark eyes on her son, "I am only one who entertains him."

Mark ducks his head in guilt, and Jack turns back to his cookie cutting. "I was just--" Mark begins.

"Rude, very rude," his mother finishes. "You wash dishes."

Sighing, Mark stations himself at the sink already full of soapy water and starts scrubbing.

Jack covers his smile as he gently places cookies onto cookie sheets. The oven is preheated, so when the first two trays are done he puts them both in the oven for five minutes. He's turned back to the dough to ball up the remainder and start over again when he looks up and sees Mrs. Fischbach smiling at him. Confused, he smiles back and starts rolling out his dough with a rolling pin.

"You make good husband," she tells Jack, and he jolts, nearly dropping the rolling pin. 

Jack avoids looking in Mark's general direction and murmurs, "You think so?"

"You cook, you take care of Mark, you handsome," she elaborates, patting his cheek with a floured hand. "Mark propose soon, I think."

Startled and red in the face, Jack immediately says, "No, oh no, he's not--we're not together. Just friends."

Mrs. Fischbach scoffs, waving his words away. "You joke."

"Stop it, Mom, we're not dating," Mark tells her from the sink. He doesn't look up.

"What he said," Jack adds weakly. 

Mrs. Fischbach frowns at them both. "Why not?"

Jack looks away, focusing on his dough when Mark's head lifts. "We just don't feel like that about each other," Mark finally says. Jack nods, but the ache hits his heart nonetheless. Mrs. Fischbach doesn't respond, frowning deeply as she checks the bread dough.

They work in silence after that, Mark washing dishes as they're made, Jack cutting out cookies and placing them on waiting sheets. Mrs. Fischbach putters around, taking the finished cookies from the oven to replace them with raw ones, tidying and generally hovering.

When Jack is out of dough, Mrs. Fischbach waves him away as he reaches for the sheets. "You go, I finish," she says, pushing him towards the door. He removes his apron and drapes it over a kitchen chair, hesitating until Mrs. Fischbach barks, "Out you go!"

Jack's just turned to the hall when he hears behind him, "Why you lie to me?"

"I didn't lie," Mark's voice carries to him, and Jack bites his lip as he eavesdrops.

"You say Jack does not love," Mrs. Fischbach accuses him. "He loves."

"Alright, yes, he loves me," Mark gets out with obvious difficulty. "But it doesn't matter. He and I are just friends."

"I raise you better than this," his mother scolds. "Tom say what you were doing in other room. He say you flirt with Jack."

"That's just joking around," Mark argues. "It doesn't mean anything."

Jack walks away before he hears anymore, hastening to Mark's room and mostly shutting the door. He lays on the bed and stares up at the starry sky, brushing away any tears that escape. 

Jack knew Mark's opinion, but it still cuts to the bone to hear it out loud. He teases, he jokes, he flirts, but it all means nothing. Jack would give him everything he had if he would accept it, and Mark wouldn't have him deep-fried with butter. _You have to stop this,_ Jack lectures himself, _before you get even more hurt._ Eventually Jack passes time trying to break his high score in solitaire, curled up with his back to the door.

"Jack?" he hears Mark call, but he doesn't answer. The door creaks as it opens and Mark says, "Hey, why didn't you answer me?" Then, "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Jack mumbles, sitting up. "What's up?"

"Well, I wanted to know if you wanted to go out for a bit with me," Mark says. "Mom has to wait for the dough to finish rising for the bread, and Tom said he's going out with friends."

"Sure," Jack says, pocketing his phone and standing. When Mark doesn't move, he glances up. Mark's staring at him, eyebrows drawn low.

"You've got to stop eavesdropping on me," Mark says, and he doesn't sound happy.

"Don't worry," Jack sneers. "It doesn't matter anyway, right?"

Mark sighs. "Listen," he says, "I just--if they knew how affectionate we were, my mom and brother would never let us live it down. Especially since your feelings are so obvious."

"I get it," Jack says tightly. "Let's go." He stalks past Mark out of the room.

"Hey!" Mark calls, following close behind. "Come on, what--"

As they enter the living room, Tom looks up from putting on his shoes at the door. He grins lopsidedly. "Lover's spat already?"

"Can it, Thomas," Mark snarls. Tom raises his hands and leaves through the front door.

Jack shifts his weight, jerking away when Mark reaches for him. "Don't," Jack says quickly. "Let's just go, alright?" He bends and pulls on his shoes.

After a moment Mark relents, putting on his shoes and leading the way from the house back to their rental car. Jack slips in the passenger side and fastens his seatbelt, but when Mark gets in behind the wheel he doesn't move to do so. His hands grip the steering wheel so hard Jack hears the leather squeak.

"It's fine, alright?" Jack finally says. "Nothin' you haven't insinuated before."

Mark winces, looking over at him. "You're not wrong," he mutters. "I don't know how I can call myself your friend."

"That's not fair," Jack says plaintively. "You can't blame yourself for not carin' more than what's normal. I mean, you brought me here when you knew I would be home alone otherwise--"

"I brought you for selfish reasons," Mark snaps, quieting him. "I brought you because I needed a shield from my brother and mom, and because if I brought you then Mom would at least shut up about me not introducing her to my friends in LA."

Jack looks down at his hands, speechless. Mark continues, "I use you for my own gains. I keep you around to protect myself when something is stressful, when something is difficult. You... make things easier for me to do."

"I know what you mean," Jack says softly, the words _I use you_ looping over and over in his mind. "I feel the same. Everythin' is better when you're near me."

Mark is silent for so long, but Jack doesn't look up. "Why do you love me?" Mark asks him.

Jack shrugs, smiling halfheartedly. "You light me up," Jack says simply. "You give me passion and a need that drives me to better myself, to give you everythin' you deserve. I'm thankfully in a position where your well-bein' is my main concern, and I exploit it. I make sure you're eatin' well, that you sleep enough. I take care of you, and it makes me happy." Jack fiddles with his fingers, resisting looking up at Mark. "You're genuine, and fearless when it counts, and you would give the shirt off your back to anyone who asked for it or needed it. You make sure everyone around you is okay, because if someone is distressed then so are you. Your soul is... fire," he says helplessly. "Vibrant and powerful, immense and pure."

When Mark doesn't respond, Jack sighs. "C'mon, show me where you went to school." 

Stiffly Mark buckles his seatbelt, switches gears and backs out of the driveway. He drives around for a while, finally speaking up and pointing out landmarks from his childhood. The schools he went to, the parks he played at as a kid, where he hung out a lot as a teenager. They park at one such school, ripe with children playing in the late afternoon summer sun. 

Mark and Jack walk a ways, wandering across the school grounds before meandering to a playground and sitting on a swing each. Jack starts swooping his legs beneath him to get height, and not long after he's soaring high above a stationary Mark, getting higher with each back and forth.

At its peak, Jack flings himself off the swing and across the sky. He hits the ground rolling, and lays on his back laughing when he comes to a stop. Suddenly Mark is above him, his face worried. 

"Are you alright?" he asks, hesitating as his hands hover above Jack, afraid to touch.

Jack laughs heartily, his body shaking with the force of it. "That was amazin'!" he says, exhilarated. "Did you see how high I went?"

"Yes," Mark says in a pained voice. "I thought you were going to break your legs."

"Not me," Jack grins, sitting up and forcing Mark to lean back or be headbutted. "I'm practically made out of rubber."

"You act like it anyway," Mark agrees, smiling ruefully.

Jack stands, brushing himself off. "Get my back, would you? I bet I'm covered in grass."

Mark drifts behind him, and instead of swatting off the errant blades of grass, he smoothes his hands slowly down Jack's back, then up his sides, and down his back again. "What do I have to do to convince you to stop being so reckless?"

Jack shivers bodily, his shoulders hunching with the force of it. "For starters, daily back rubs."

Mark's quiet laugh reaches his ears. "Done," he whispers, sliding his hands down over Jack's butt. He grips Jack by the hip when he tries to squirm away. "Where do you think you're going?" Mark asks playfully.

Laughing lowly, Jack turns to look at Mark over his shoulder. "Away from the pervert I call a best friend. What's gotten into you? You--"

"Indulge me," Mark says persuasively, his hands creeping around the bottom hem of Jack's t-shirt, tickling the skin there.

"Why?" Jack asks breathlessly, and there's weight behind the word.

Slowly, Mark takes his arm and turns him. When Jack faces him, Mark's face softens. "I don't know," he says honestly.

Jack... was hoping for more than that. He nods anyway, as permission and acknowledgement. Mark's hands wander, lifting his t-shirt just slightly as they caress up his back. Jack rests his palms on Mark's chest, unsure what else to do but let his body melt under those amazing hands.

"Keep it PG," Jack hastens to add when Mark starts pulling his shirt up. "There are literally children afoot."

Scowling Mark looks over his shoulder to the play structure beyond. Already two moms are frowning at them, and a handful of kids are stopped and staring. "Let's go," he says firmly, taking Jack's hand and striding across the grass to where they parked.

Jack's heart is swollen to the point of tasting it in his throat, but he doesn't care. Mark is... He has no idea what Mark is doing, but he's enjoying it ridiculously, and so is Mark if the heat of his eyes and his quick steps are anything to go by. Jack swallows the urge to ask again, what it means. He doubts Mark even knows.

_He's been alone too long,_ says the little voice in his head. _He's even told you so. Mark's looking for anything to soothe the itch. You're just handy._

The thought sobers him of his giddiness. They're back at the car, and Mark tugs him along until Jack's got his back against the passenger door. Mark places hands on either side of him, effectively caging him and making Jack's heart race.

"This isn't what you want," Jack says as Mark moves in. When the brunet hesitates, Jack adds, "If it was, you'd have asked me out when I told you how I felt." He sighs against the pain, continues, "You just... have an itch, and I'm the nearest available person to scratch it."

Mark frowns hard at Jack. "That's not--"

"Then what is it, Mark? What could it possibly be?" Jack inquires. "You only like me as a friend, but you've got me up against your car like a date you're about to ravish. Explain that."

Mark flounders for an answer, eventually coming up with, "I like your body well enough."

Jack closes his eyes. He knew it. It's, amazingly, both outcomes. Unrequited love and no-strings-attached hell. Only his luck would really be this bad.

"Let me go," Jack requests, so softly.

"Jack?" Mark says, cautious. 

He opens his eyes and sees Mark's handsome, big-nosed, wide-mouthed, stubbled face. He looks concerned. Isn't that nice? "Let me go, please," Jack says again, and Mark backs up. Jack turns and opens the car door, getting inside and shutting it gently.

After a moment Mark gets in on the other side, closing his door and turning to peer at Jack. "I don't know what you want me to say," Mark says, at a loss.

"I want you to say 'I love you'," Jack tells him, and watches Mark's face close up. "But you can't. So we'll just pretend I didn't say that, and you can go on casually touchin' me whenever it pleases you."

Mark starts the ignition and shifts gears hard, driving out of the lot in a fishtail across the gravel. When they're almost back to his mother's, Mark growls, "I don't know what you expect from me. I'm... I'm trying to get somewhere where both of us are happy."

"Then just do what you want," Jack sighs, staring out the window. _Because I love him, because I need him, I'll give him what he wants,_ he thinks with finality. "I won't stop you anymore. I don't have it in me. I'll be your... whatever it is you think I should be. Your toy, your whore, your--"

"Stop it!" Mark snaps, and Jack closes his mouth. 

They pull into the driveway and Mark parks, turning off the ignition. Sitting in the thick silence, they avoid looking at each other. Finally, Jack says, "I just want to be close to you. That's all I want, and I'll take what I can get."

Mark gets out of the car, slamming the door shut and making Jack flinch. He watches Mark stomp up the stairs to the front door and nearly rip the thing off its hinges in his fervour to open it. Much later, Jack exits the car and follows Mark's path, shutting the door behind him and taking off his shoes.

"There you are," Mark says, standing in the living room looking irritated and twitchy. "My mom's watching a movie. I'm going to my room. You get to sleep on the couch." He disappears into the hallway before Jack can open his mouth.

Jack goes to his bags--Mark's are gone from the living room--and fishes in his backpack for his phone charger. He takes it into the kitchen and plugs it in the wall under the table, sitting and plugging his phone in. Jack doesn't know how long he's there, but twenty-three games of solitaire later Mrs. Fischbach finds him.

"Mark has temper," is the first thing she says, and Jack laughs softly. "But he is good boy. Good man," she corrects. 

"He's a great man," Jack says. "But he knows when he's cornered just like anyone else."

"Explain this," Mark's mother tells him.

"He..." Jack sighs, shrugging. "Mark is a dreamer, but he's also an optimist. He thinks he can have everythin' he wants because there's nothin' wrong with havin' everythin'. And there isn't. But sometimes, he forgets the other people involved. Sometimes he forgets me." Jack swallows. "He wants a part of me, but only a part. Just a piece of who I am."

"Then he is fool," she says, turning away to check whatever's in the oven. "And he will learn this when he can't have what he wants."

"I won't deny him, if he asks," Jack says miserably. "I can't. And he knows it."

Mrs. Fischbach sighs, a great sound. "Then you are fool too." She sits next to him, pats his large hand with her smaller one. "But fools go together good."

"Tell him that," Jack muses, standing. "I'd like to go to sleep, if that's okay," he adds.

Nodding, Mark's mother disappears and reappears momentarily with a folded sheet, blanket and pillow. "You have couch, since Mark will not share."

Jack laughs at that. Sharing a bed with Mark, that will be the day. He takes the bedding from Mrs. Fischbach, saying, "Thanks. G'night." He goes to the living room, dresses the couch in the sheet and places the pillow. Jack hauls his suitcase onto its side, unzipping it and digging around for pyjamas. He finds a pair of sleep pants and changes into them, forgoing a shirt considering the heat of the day. He crawls onto the couch, pulling up the blanket, and sleeps fretfully all night.

 

Even without his alarm, Jack still wakes early. He groans, hiding his face in his pillow and in defeat he rolls out of bed. He throws on a shirt over his naked chest and shuffles to the kitchen. Locating a coffee maker, Jack hunts in the kitchen for the fixings and eventually finds coffee grounds and filters in the pantry. He starts the machine once it's topped up, and begins anew looking for frying pans and cooking utensils. When he finds a spatula and one large frying pan, he sets the pan on heat and goes through the fridge, coming across eggs and bacon. The bread, freshly baked yesterday, is sitting under towels on the stove, eight loaves. Jack pilfers one and slices it, beginning the toast as he cracks eggs and flops bacon into the pan.

Tom shows up first, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, but he's managed to make it to the table alright. "M'rnin'," he grumbles.

"Good mornin'," Jack says, filling a plate and putting it in front of him along with a cup of coffee. Tom peers at it for a moment before seeming to understand what he's supposed to do. He picks up his fork and starts eating.

Mrs. Fischbach comes into the kitchen close to eight, already frowning. "Why do you cook? This my house, last time I check," she says snappily.

Grinning, Jack gives her a plate laden with food and says, "Sit, please. Eat." She mutters in Korean but listens to him, sitting and eating.

When Jack's halfway through his own breakfast and there's still no sign of Mark, he asks, "Is Mark sleepin' in?"

"He went for a run," Tom says, much more alive now that he's been fed. "Early. He woke me up with his banging around."

"Oh," Jack says, then nods. At home, Mark sometimes went running in the mornings, but Jack was always up to see him leave, and come back. "Okay."

Jack cleans up after Tom and Mrs. Fischbach have finished eating, washing the dishes and shooing them both away when they offer to help. On Sundays, Mrs. Fischbach explains, she watches her TV shows and gets some sun by gardening a bit. If Mark continues to be an ass and ignore him, he's welcome to join her. Tom leaves to his room, muttering something about work.

Still picking at his food, Jack jumps when the front door closes sharply and he hears, "Hey, Mom. Smells good, what'd you make?" Footsteps precede Mark's entrance into the kitchen, but Jack's not prepared for what he sees.

Mark, dressed in a light yellow sleeveless shirt and athletic shorts, is drenched in sweat. His face drips with it, his chest is soaked with it, and Jack can smell his musk from where he's sitting. His skin glistens in the cheap fluorescent lighting, and Jack sees every pearl of perspiration as it clings hungrily to Mark's flesh. Abruptly Jack stands before either of them say anything and leaves the room. He has nowhere to hide but Tom's room or Mark's mother's room--Mark will need both his room and the bathroom to clean up--and he respects Mrs. Fischbach enough that he won't impede on her privacy. Quickly Jack opens Tom's bedroom door and shuts himself inside. 

Turning, Jack grins sheepishly at Tom's startled and annoyed look. "Sorry. Had to, eh... hide."

Tom studies him for a moment before smirking knowingly. "Got the hots for my sweaty, disgusting brother? Gross," he adds, facing his computer again. "You can stay until He-Man has a shower and no longer festers your loins, but don't touch anything."

Jack nods, seating himself on the floor with his back against the door and playing solitaire. He manages to beat his high score, twice, but whenever he whoops for joy Tom gives him a withering look. Jack does it anyway.

There's a knock on the wood to Jack's back, and then Mark's voice vibrates through it, "Tom, have you seen Jack? I asked Mom but she doesn't know."

Jack slices his hand across his throat repeatedly at Tom, the universal sign for "DO NOT". Tom smirks. "Yeah, he and I are hanging out." Jack slaps his hand to his forehead.

Immediately the door shoves against Jack's weight, making him dig his feet into the carpet. "Jack?" Mark calls.

"Absent," Jack says, throwing all his weight at the door even as Mark gains ground. "Uh, currently very tied up with your brother, couldn't possibly get away--" Mark heaves the door open and Jack sprawls across the floor, quickly getting to his feet. "Hi."

Mark stands there, hair damp and combed, wearing jeans and a Mass Effect t-shirt. His face is a thunder cloud. "Jack, a word?"

"Ooh, boo's in trouble," Tom goads, eyeing the two of them.

"Shut up," Mark snaps at him, snagging Jack's wrist in his hand and dragging him from the room. He carts the Irishman down the hall to his own room and flings him onto the bed, shutting the door firmly but not loudly.

Jack crawls backward until his shoulders hit the wall. Mark stares down at him, hands clenched into fists. "What were you doing with my brother?" he demands.

_Hiding from you,_ Jack thinks with what's left of his sanity. Mark's muscles flex as his hands grip onto nothing, and Jack salivates. "Uh, you know, hangin' out."

Somehow this isn't the right answer, because Mark's eyes blaze. He grabs Jack's ankles and yanks him forward to sit on the edge of the bed. Rather than let go, however, Mark's hands drift up from his ankles along his calves, spreading warmth wherever he touches him through the thin pyjama pants.

Jack swallows. "Um. Am I in trouble?" When Mark doesn't answer, instead letting Jack's legs drop to haul him to his feet, Jack pushes on, "Because I was just hidin' from you, only because you were sweaty and I cannot handle that, that is--" At Mark's sharp look he shuts up, biting his lip as Mark's hands clamp on his hips and pull him into stark contact with Mark's front.

"Mark," Jack murmurs, but Mark shuts him up with a hand over his mouth. His other hand lifts the hem of Jack's shirt purposefully, rucking it up underneath his arms.

Jack goes five shades of red and pries Mark's hand off his mouth. "Are you... jealous?" Jack asks in wonder.

Mark scowls but doesn't deny it. He takes his hand back and spreads it across the small of Jack's naked back, pressing them close at the groin. Heart caving in on itself, Jack lifts his arms so Mark can relieve him of his shirt. Mark drops it somewhere behind him and stares at what he's uncovered.

Jack turns his face away but gently, more gentle than Jack thought him currently capable of, Mark's hand takes his chin and guides his gaze forward again. With his fingertips, Jack feels Mark trace the multitude of pale red scars across his torso.

"Don't... don't forget me," Mark says, his voice low and hushed, tinged with sadness. "Look at me all the time. Whether I'm sweaty, or angry, or sad, or grumpy. Please don't stop looking at me." His hand smoothes over Jack's jaw, cupping his face. 

"I..." But Jack doesn't know what to say. Mark's looking at him like he's a miracle, something precious, but there's no way that's right. Jack inhales an unsteady breath and places shaking hands on Mark's chest. "I give up," Jack says to his chin, unable to look him in the eye. "You get me, in whatever way suits you. I'm yours."

Jack feels Mark's body stiffen against him, and Jack falters when he's suddenly let go, his shirt stuffed into his hands and Mark already backing up. "What--"

"I..." Mark says, with pink cheeks and jittery hands. "Jack, I don't know what I'm doing."

"It's okay," Jack soothes, reaching out, but Mark recoils and Jack quickly takes his hand back.

"I just made you give in to basically whatever I want," Mark wonders, horrified and staring at Jack. "How--what am I doing?"

Jack, uneasy at the look on Mark's face, says placatingly, "I said it was okay, and I meant it. I trust you--"

"But I made you," Mark whispers. "I fucking made you, Jack."

_He did,_ Jack admits, and he can't lie about that. "I still want it," Jack says, and that's the truth. "How could I not? Mark, I love you."

Mark grimaces at the words, and Jack wishes he could take them back. "But you never wanted it like this," Mark says, quiet.

"No," Jack admits softly. "I didn't want it like this. You know what I want, but I doubt very much that I'll ever get it from you." Mark's face falls. "I'm fine with that!" Jack rushes on. "I knew from the start what was probable, what to expect from you romantically. Nothin'," Jack says. 

Mark sighs, rubbing both hands on the back of his neck and tipping his head back. "So you would be with me as an assistant, as a friend, and now as a conditional lover? Just because I wanted it?"

"Yes," Jack says, helplessly lifting his hands, palms-up. "I have nothin' else to lose. You're it for me. You either keep me around, or don't. And I'll accept whatever you decide." His heart breaks when Mark looks at him with nothing but distress in his features.

"I can't lose you as a friend," Mark finally says, clenching and unclenching his hands as he paces. "I can't. And I need you to be my assistant. You save me, daily." Jack drops his gaze, because he already knows what's coming. "I don't--I can't do all three."

"Then it stops," Jack says, firming his voice when he feels emotion clogging his throat. "I don't want to lose you either. I... I could do it, all three, but it's not up to me. I'll be your friend, and your assistant, as long as you need me."

"The touching, the gay chicken, everything, it stops," Mark says, staring at his hands as if they hold some answer. "Nothing besides close friendship and an employer and employee."

"Okay," Jack says, nodding. He feels his shirt in his hands and belatedly puts it back on. He doesn't let himself think that part of Mark's refusal to go further was because of his scars, the short, ugly roping lines from shrapnel and surgeries that crisscross and pepper his body. Even though he knows it's likely true. "Just friends."

"Just friends," Mark agrees, looking at him sadly.

"You'll never lose me, Mark," Jack tells him genuinely to remove that expression from his face. "I'll be here until you turn me away."

Mark sighs explosively, giving Jack a quick glance before staring down at his feet. "I can never get enough of you," Mark tells him. "Like I'm going to turn you away."

"In the future," Jack says, ignoring the way hope blooms in his chest, "don't tell me things like that. It won't help either of us."

Nodding, Mark says, "Yeah." Mark peers at him, a new look on his face that Jack can't put his thumb on. He sighs. "I know we literally just said we weren't touching anymore, but... can we hug it out?"

Mouth quirked, Jack relents. "Sure," he says, lifting his arms even as Mark comes forward. Mark loops his arms under Jack's, coiling them tight around his back and splaying his hands flat against his body. Jack buries his face in Mark's neck, clawing one hand in Mark's shirt and the other in his hair. If he cries, Mark doesn't mention it.

When they separate, Jack can't help thinking that it feels a lot like a goodbye.

 

Jack gets the front door open as Mark brings up the rear, overladen with their luggage and somehow still on the phone with his mother. "No, Mom, Jack is still here. Yes, he's going to make supper. I don't know, chicken maybe? He just feeds me, I don't ask questions." 

Jack smiles, lowering his bag to the floor and turning to unburden Mark. One at a time Jack takes a bag or suitcase and sets it down, freeing Mark to roam as he talks to his mother. Jack takes his two bags and, after removing toiletries and personal effects, dumps his clothes unceremoniously into a laundry basket. He does the same with Mark's bags, then throws in a load of laundry to wash.

Heading into the kitchen, Jack rifles in the fridge for the fixings for tacos (simple and quick) and starts chopping iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, and peppers while a pan preheats for the ground beef. He's browning the meat by the time Mark is off the phone.

Jack hears Mark enter the kitchen and turns, opening his mouth to speak when Mark suddenly pushes him up against the counter. 

"Please tell me you're making tacos," Mark says in the whiniest voice Jack's ever heard him use. "I don't think you understand how much I love tacos. I should have a taco trophy."

Jack's mind reboots and he gently pushes Mark back. "I'm makin' tacos, baby," he croons, and watches Mark do a happy dance right there in the kitchen.

Despite their rule on the second day in Cincinnati, Mark and Jack soon fell back into old rhythms, idly touching and jokingly calling each other pet names. After their almost tryst that morning, Mark couldn't look Jack in the eye at all, and he barely spoke to him. Jack, after generous helpings of cold shoulder, then steered clear of Mark completely. Mark got an earful from his mom, Jack got an earful when he called Felix, and then things started improving. Jack suffered for about a day before Mark started treating him how he used to, with the exclusion of gay chicken. Jack thinks if they did gay chicken now, it would quickly evolve into just 'gay'. Even now, you could pluck the sexual tension between them with a guitar pick.

Mark starts twerking, shaking his ass for all he's worth, and something small snaps in Jack. "Alright, alright, out of my kitchen," Jack orders, shoving said ass directly out of his space. "Take that fine booty into the shower, you stinky creature."

"Hey!" Mark says, then lifts an arm and sniffs, recoiling. "Yeesh, okay, got it." He disappears into the bathroom.

Alone again, Jack finishes the tacos, heats up the tortilla shells in the microwave, and sets everything on the dinner table. By the time he's sitting down to eat, Mark still hasn't left the bathroom. Jack waits for five minutes before he stands, not without irritation, and strides to knock on the bathroom door. "Mark? Supper's done, come and eat."

"Be right out," Mark calls quickly. Jack hesitates but goes back to his seat.

It's another nine minutes later that has Jack stomping to the door and wrenching it open, saying hotly, "I have been waitin' for--"

He doesn't finish. Mark is naked, leaning against the shower wall with his hand on his dick looking like a deer frozen in headlights.

Jack whirls on his toes and slams the door behind him. Immediately after he goes redder than a baboon's ass and collapses against the wall, his hands to his face and a muted scream on his tongue. 

"Please tell me I did not just see you masturbatin'," Jack pleads, loud enough for Mark to hear.

"Uh," Mark calls back with a nervous chuckle.

"Mark," Jack says, lowering his hands, "what the fock, man."

"It's been a really long trip, I'm sorry," Mark sighs. "I couldn't help it. You touched my butt."

Jack legitimately double-takes at the door. He slaps his hands on his face again. _"What did you just say."_

"You know you turn me on," Mark says plaintively.

"No I don't!" Jack yells, opening the door with a hand over his eyes. "That was never a thing I knew!" 

Mark's feet, just visible on the underside of Jack's hand, scamper away as if scalded. "Oh my God, what the hell," Mark babbles. "Don't just come in here, I'm _nude."_

"Why do you think my hand is on my eyes, babe?" Jack asks dryly. Then more seriously, "I do not turn you on. That is a blatant falsehood."

"Um, no?" Mark says. "Pretty sure my dick is still hard, and I've only been thinking of you." Jack hears the smirk in his voice.

Jack flushes again. "Don't say shit like that. Christ, are we just stompin' all over the rule that keeps us from climbin' each other like a jungle gym?"

Mark sighs. "Alright, I'm behaving," he grumbles. "Go get me some clothes then, I need clean ones."

"What am I, the maid?" Jack complains, even as he leaves the bathroom to do just that. He grabs a pair of sweats and a t-shirt at random from Mark's dresser, returning and shutting his eyes as he enters the bathroom. "I've got your raiments, majesty."

Mark laughs, and then the clothes are taken from Jack's hand. "Thanks, boo, now get out."

"With pleasure," Jack sighs, turning and opening his eyes, sitting again at the dinner table. A moment later, he's joined by Mark, and Jack almost bites his tongue in half.

The t-shirt he gave Mark is _tight,_ obviously from before his filling out phase. It's stretched to its limit, moulded to Mark's muscles like cling wrap and has ridden far enough up his stomach that Jack can see the bottom of his navel. Of course, then the sweatpants are practically hanging off of his hips with not a drawstring in sight. Partway up Mark's abdomen all the way down to his hipbones is in plain view, nicely decorated by a crawl of hair along the middle of his stomach and continuing on beneath the sweatpants.

Jack reddens for the third time that afternoon. "Are you tryin' to kill me?" he asks Mark miserably as he sits down.

Mark looks down as his state of dress and shrugs. "You're the one that picked them, I'm just wearing them." He grins crookedly.

Narrowing his eyes, Jack loads up a tortilla shell with seasoned ground beef, cheese, lettuce and peppers then rolls it up. "Mark, is there something in my teeth?" When Mark looks up, Jack opens his mouth and performs fellatio on his taco, sliding the length of it slowly into his mouth, then eating it in one bite. Mark stares at Jack's mouth like a cat with a laser pointer, big eyes and confused excitement. When Jack finishes chewing he licks his lips and Mark's eyes trace the movement.

"Jack," Mark's voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "Jack," he tries again but never finishes, because across the table Jack is sucking his fingers clean one by one.

"Yeah, buddy?" Jack inquires with a smile.

Mark clears his throat again. "You are a horrible person," he tells Jack fervently, but he still can't take his eyes off Jack's mouth.

"So are you," Jack says with a soft snort, "runnin' around here dressed like a whore."

"I think after that little display you just gave, we are both whores," Mark states, looking away and stuffing a taco in his mouth.

They finish dinner in silence, avoiding eye contact. Occasionally Mark makes a small sound of happiness or pleasure, and Jack glances over to see Mark's eyes are closed and he's chewing with vigour. Mark has eight tacos and, small though they are, enjoys himself immensely. Jack has the two remaining tacos, but that's all he wanted anyway. Jack stands to clear the dishes away but when he takes Mark's plate, his roommate closes his hand around Jack's wrist.

"We need to talk about what just happened," he tells Jack. "In my bedroom. It has the best lighting."

Jack can't tell if he's serious or not. "And what would we do there?"

"Have wild and passionate sex?" Marks hedges. "And then talk about how good it was, and do it again. Repeat cycle."

Jack gives him a dull look. "Wow, you sure know how to make a girl feel special."

Mark ducks his head with a grin. "Worth a shot." He sobers. "Seriously, we do need to talk." He gestures for Jack to sit in the living room.

Resigned to his fate, Jack sets the dishes down and walks to the couch, sitting in his spot, the spot he always sits in whenever Felix, Marzia, Wade and Bob come over. Mark's spot is always Jack's right-hand on the couch, and Wade usually sits on Jack's left. Jack is unsurprised but restless when Mark sits in his usual spot, too.

"So," Mark says slowly, "I think it's safe to say that there's a difference being around other people while we're like this, and being alone." 

"'This' being horny gay monsters?" Jack muses.

Mark chuckles. "Sure. Anyway, from Saturday until today we were around my mom and my brother so it's not like we could flirt outrageously, no matter how riled up we got. Now we're alone, not in public, and still crazy for each other."

Jack nods, scratching at his jaw. "Uh, well the obvious solution would be to cave and do what we want. But that has a bit of an emotional side to it that you don't want to touch."

"That's... true," Mark admits, sighing. "And we could ignore it and just not be as friendly with each other. Less harmless-flirting-turned-intent-flirting."

"But you're my honeybee," Jack whines, pouting. At Mark's dry look, he relents, "Alright. We have two options, screw like animals with no emotions and break Jack's heart, or no sex at all and break Mark's heart."

Mark guffaws. "Basically."

Running hands through his hair, Jack thinks. If Mark cares about him as much as he does, and he's physically attracted to him, if Jack lets himself sleep with Mark then will Mark's feelings become more? Or will Mark have his fill, satisfy his loneliness and no longer need him in bed?

Looking up, Jack sees Mark looking back. His glasses are down his nose, giving Jack an all-access pass to Mark's rich brown eyes. His hair is flopped down along one side of his face and Jack wants to play with it. Mark smiles suddenly, a spreading of amusement across his mouth that lights up his whole face, and says something, but Jack doesn't hear it. 

"Say that again," Jack murmurs, blinking.

"I said, I like when you look at me," Mark repeats. "You make me feel like I'm the only person in the room."

"You are," Jack chuckles. 

Mark gives him a look. "You know what I mean. Like, at Adriana's party. I called out to you and as soon as you saw me, there was nobody else there."

Jack stares at Mark's stubble, nodding. "You're right. That's pretty much how I see things. Mark-o-vision."

Smiling, Mark lays a hand on Jack's thigh, rubbing small circles with his thumb. "And you know I get jealous pretty easily whenever someone talks to you."

Jack did know that. It was evidenced when Mark caught Jack in Tom's room, and before that at Adriana's, when Liz the rich gold digger was talking to Jack. It gave Jack a sliver of hope that Mark was capable of feeling more than friendship for him.

"Say I want to try the sex route," Jack begins, immediately piquing Mark's curiosity. "Would I be able to have a condition?"

"Anything," Mark says instantly.

"I want to be able to tell you I love you whenever I want," Jack says, and watches Mark go still. Slowly Mark pulls his hand from Jack's leg and stands, pacing in front of the couch. 

"Low blow," Mark accuses him, chewing his lip. "You know it's the one thing I don't like hearing."

That hurts like a dart to the face, but Jack persists, "Maybe if you heard it more you wouldn't hate it so much? And maybe you'd..."

Mark pauses. "Maybe I'd what?" 

Swallowing, Jack says, "Maybe you'd like me more, too." Jack hears the unimpressed sound Mark makes, and then he starts pacing again. "Just an idea, fock."

"Stop trying to get me to love you," Mark says nastily, glaring.

"Stop tryin' to get me to fock you!" Jack shouts back. Mark turns away, an ugly look on his face. Jack leans back into the couch, arms crossed over his chest and looking anywhere but at Mark.

A hurtful silence stretches out, and Mark's words start bouncing around Jack's mind like tennis balls. _It's the one thing I don't like hearing._ No, Jack knew that Mark didn't like talking about it. But is it really so unreasonable a request, empty sex for the ability to just say it once in a while? It's not like it costs Mark anything. God forbid someone love him. _Stop trying to get me to love you._ What else is Jack supposed to do? He wants nothing more than he wants Mark. This is his number one investment, his number one priority. Jack loving Mark is literally a full-time job.

Frowning, Jack stands. He won't get anywhere with Mark tonight. They've been in another city for four days, just got home from half a day's traveling, and they decide now is a good time for a fight.

"I'm going to bed," Jack says, moving to the hallway.

Mark snaps his head up, quickly following. "No, we have to sort this out."

Jack sighs. "Hey, you said it all. I shouldn't try to convince you I'm worth lovin'. It's a waste of everyone's time." 

"That's not what I said," Mark says, pursuing him when Jack goes into his bedroom. "I just meant--"

"That you can't love me," Jack finishes for him, flipping on his light and unbuckling his belt as he moves to the dresser. "I got it, loud and clear."

Mark growls, a frustrated sound. "No, just listen, would you? I don't... do this, with men. I mean, I went to college and had my share of fun, but after that I didn't pursue any men, because none appealed to me."

"So I'm the first to catch your eye, and even then I was your friend for weeks before that," Jack says dully. He takes out pyjama bottoms and tosses them on the bed, pulling his shirt off over his head. Hardly worth being self-conscious about his scars when Mark's admitted he won't love him. What does it matter if he does or doesn't like how Jack looks?

"No," Mark corrects, "I liked you the second I saw you."

Jack gapes at him. "What?"

"I liked you the second I saw you," Mark tells him again, smiling.

_And then he got to know me,_ Jack thinks mirthlessly, _and all my scars._ "Well, good to know my curb appeal is impressive," Jack says sarcastically.

Mark frowns. "What does that mean?" 

Jack gestures to himself, his pale chest with a dusting of hair and mottled with marring cuts that are still pink with healing. Their memories will never lessen, never go away. "Aside from my extensive emotional baggage, I look like Jason and Freddy fought over me and both won. You probably haven't even noticed the ones on my face and arms. Those ones faded, but these ones?" Jack scowls, poking at a large scar on his abdomen, wider than the others around it and more gnarled. "I was pierced with a piece of metal here, almost halfway through me. They said at the hospital that if it went any further I would've died."

Mark's face is tortured when Jack looks up. "You look fine," Mark gets out, unable to stop staring.

"That's what everyone wants to hear," Jack says, turning his back. "You look fine." He scoffs to himself, unfastening his jeans and letting them slide off his hips. Mark makes a noise behind him, and he glances back to see Mark has averted his face. Looking down, Jack sees why. The scarring on his legs is impressive, seeing as one of his legs was lacerated pretty deep by all the glass that showered into the car, and the other got caught by the seat and the centre console. His leg hair still grows normally, so unless you're looking right at them, sometimes they don't look all that bad.

Clearing his throat, Mark takes a step forward. "What, so you think just because you're damaged goods that nobody cares?" Mark demands. "I'm more emotionally distant that the Mars rover. I can't even manage to feel something for someone who's given me everything he is," Mark says, at a loss.

Jack revels in the fact that Mark is actually talking about this. Who knew, the things to get him going were self-pity and a strip show worthy of the Chainsaw Massacre? Jack watches Mark rub his neck morosely, then turns to his underwear drawer saying, "It's not your fault. You can't help what you feel." Jack would know.

Mark laughs, a hollow sound. "Yes, I know. I see every day how you feel. You didn't know how obvious you are," Mark acknowledges, nodding at Jack's surprised look. "You appraise me with your eyes, like you're taking everything in. And sometimes you walk around with this stupid smile on your face and all I can do is watch you."

Jack fiddles with the boxer briefs in his hands, glancing over at Mark who's staring back and doing some appraising of his own. "I'm gettin' a lot of mixed messages, here," Jack says, when, amazingly, Mark's eyes roam with hunger over his body.

Smiling, Mark approaches him. Jack stares, doe-eyed as he closes the gap between them and takes Jack's face in his hands. "Does this clear things up?" he asks, and leans in.

Jack has time to think, _Oh,_ and then Mark's mouth is on his and the quiet of the room seems to roar in his ears. With the grip on his jaw Mark manoeuvres Jack where he wants him and Jack goes willingly, dropping the underwear in his hands and helplessly clawing them in Mark's too-small shirt. His mouth opens when Mark teases his tongue over Jack's lips and Mark dives right in, deepening the kiss and thrusting his tongue into Jack's mouth. 

Heat crawls down Jack's limbs, radiating from the ball of fire sitting somewhere in his chest. He moans into the kiss and Mark's response is immediate, dropping his hands from Jack's face and instead slipping them slowly around his torso, leaving a trail of firecrackers going off on Jack's skin and bringing his body into stark contact with Mark's from knee to nipple. When Mark's hands keep wandering, cupping Jack's ass and holding them flush together, Jack shivers both from the chill of the room and the sensation left behind from those fingers.

Mark raises his head, just enough to whisper, "Are you cold?" He presses a lingering kiss to the underside of Jack's jaw, then travels down his neck slowly.

"Yes," Jack moans, in direct response to his affection and in answer to his question. His hands move on their own, one spearing into Mark's hair and the other spread out over his shoulders and back, teasing the skin there with errant fingertips. When Mark's mouth grows insistent on the side of his neck, Jack tilts his head to allow him more space and is rewarded with a low growl followed by a butt squeeze.

"Then I better warm you up," Mark says, nipping the side of his jaw. His hands draw up to tease the waistband of Jack's last defense, his boxer briefs. When Mark toys with his waistband, Jack is reminded just how easily Mark excites him and when he glances down to watch Mark's hands undress him, he notes that Mark is far from unaffected. 

Mark pulls the fabric down an inch or so, baring more of Jack's abdomen and treasure trail. Jack leans back, just far enough to tug at the hem of Mark's ridiculously tight shirt and lift it upwards. Obligingly Mark holds his arms over his head and Jack pulls the garment up and off. Exposed and unhindered, Mark's body is beautiful, sculpted with generous muscle and definition. His burnt honey skin tone continues on throughout, no tan lines at all, and his body hair though not copious is attractively dusted along his stomach and chest. His biceps flex and his pectorals shift when he reaches and lifts Jack off his feet with a hand under each thigh, holding him to Mark's chest.

Jack protests, "The light," when Mark turns to leave his room. Pausing, he shifts Jack into one arm and flicks the switch, cascading them in darkness. In the hall, their only light is that from the kitchen which neither of them had the forethought to turn off. "Should we get--"

"No," Mark grunts, pushing his own bedroom door open and depositing Jack onto the bed. Shutting the door behind him, Mark turns on the light and Jack jumps slightly.

"Um," Jack mumbles, slinking back further onto the bed at Mark's lustful stare. "Say, why don't we play a round of card--" He stops short when Mark crawls over him on all fours, holding himself up easily and staring down at Jack. 

"Out of things to say?" Mark asks with a smile, shifting until one arm bears his weight to leave his right hand free. 

"Never," Jack laughs. His laugh ends abruptly when Mark's hand splays on his abdomen and mades pudding of his brain as it caresses and teases him. "Mark," he groans, and then Mark's lips meet his again.

Mark devours him, dropping onto his elbow and fisting his left hand in Jack's hair. When he pulls, just slightly, Jack gasps and Mark seizes his open mouth, smothering the cries his touching elicits. His right hand creeps low, and before Jack's fumbling hands can stop him, Mark lowers his boxer briefs and slips them down and off his legs. He breaks the kiss to look down and see what he's uncovered.

"Mark," Jack pleads, when all Mark does is stare at his erection and pet his hip. "I..."

"Shh," Mark says gently, kissing him. "I got you." He gets off the bed long enough to shed his loose sweatpants, and Jack is reminded starkly that he wears nothing underneath when Mark is left standing naked before him. Jack stares, his mouth watering at the sight of Mark in all his nudity, strong and ridiculously sexy. Mark gives his (beautiful and impressive) erect cock a few lazy pumps with one hand and Jack's mind short-circuits. 

Crawling back over him, Mark descends to kiss him again. Jack holds him there by a firm grip in his hair, his tongue working against Mark's in an increasingly torturous duel. Every time Mark leans down onto him with his whole body, Jack feels the slide of his skin along his cock, and feels Mark's cock rub at his groin. His hips roll up to meet Mark's each time he moves.

Jack sighs unevenly, breaking the kiss when Mark's hand finds a nipple. Tweaking and pinching, Mark teases him until his back arches and he cries out after a particularly firm pinch. "Mark," Jack breathes, bracing himself with hands firmly at Mark's hips. "Please." His hips move insistently.

"I got you, I got you," Mark soothes, even as his hand closes around Jack's cock and his hips buck hard. Mark kisses him, hand moving steadily, and Jack feels his body fraying at the edges. He moans into Mark's mouth, which seems to spur Mark on to be increasingly cruel and his hand becomes insistent, determined. Mark leaves his mouth to kiss a line down his chest, dipping his tongue into Jack's navel before climbing back up and fastening his lips around a budded nipple. 

Jack arches his back off the bed, crying out and clenching his fists in the comforter beneath him. He turns foggy eyes down and Mark is sucking and biting like his life depends on it, hand pumping thoroughly over Jack's cock. Tipping his head back, Jack ignores the tears that tickle his eyes and sighs out a shaky breath. 

But Mark looks up and sees and he pauses. "Jack? Are you okay?" he asks with concern.

Nodding vigorously, Jack throws an arm across his eyes and assures him, "Yeah, yes, I'm okay." He whines plaintively when Mark lifts his head and moves his hands away. "No, don't go."

Mark moves up to Jack's level and gently removes his arm from his face. Jack stares at him and Mark stares back, his hand idly petting Jack's chest. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin', I'm completely okay," Jack insists, pawing at his eyes. "It's just--It's fine, don't worry about it."

Rising up on his elbows Mark kisses Jack's cheeks, smoothing his hair back from his face. "You getting weepy on me?" he smiles.

Jack shakes his head firmly. "No, I'm not. Keep goin', I'm fine." He cradles Mark's face and pulls him down for a kiss.

Mark goes easily but leans back after a moment. "I try to make it a habit not to have sex with people who are crying," Mark says dryly.

"Who says I'm cryin'?" Jack disputes, and wavers under Mark's stare. "Okay, alright, but it's... I'm just overwhelmed. I didn't think this could ever happen." Jack hides his face behind his hands. "Quit lookin' at me, go away."

Mark lowers his body down, resting himself against Jack and rolling his hips. Clamping his hand around both of Jack's wrists, Mark lifts them over his head and presses them into the mattress, keeping his gaze stuck on Jack. 

He swallows at the look in Mark's eyes. "I..." Mark rolls his hips again and Jack moans, loud. He struggles to get his hands free but Mark tightens his hold and constantly moves, his body undulating against Jack's and making him crazy. 

When Mark drops his head into Jack's neck and pants in his ear, "Jack, fuck..." Jack claws the air and groans, bucking his hips up and giving a little writhe. Mark's breath catches and he lets Jack's wrists go to grab his hips and line up. He makes the filthiest sound when he moves, halfway between a growl and moan, and starts grinding Jack into the mattress.

"God, would you just screw me already?" Jack gasps, digging his fingernails into Mark's arms and moaning in time with his hips.

Laughing softly, Mark stills and rolls off him, sitting up to root around in his bedside table. He comes back with a condom and a bottle of lube.

"That's more like it," Jack says, even as his stomach swoops. Mark smiles in an easy sort of way, setting the items aside to pull Jack into a sitting position. "What's that look for?"

Mark shrugs a naked shoulder but his grin won't go away. "Been waiting for this a long time."

This time Jack's heart swoops. "Me too," he says, looking away.

Still smiling, Mark takes both pillows and puts them up against the headboard then guides Jack to lean on them. Mark spreads his legs apart as Jack lies back and he gets a few shades pinker but doesn't say anything when Mark stares with interest. Mark slides the condom on himself, rolling it down to the base, and then he's pouring lube onto his fingers and Jack can feel his nervousness to the roots of his hair.

Mark catches that look, frowning. "We can stop," he says, in a tone that suggests he may die if they do. 

Jack sighs, looking away and then back, letting his eyes wander all over Mark. "No, go ahead. I trust you."

Hesitantly Mark touches him, but it's a slick hand around his cock instead of a penetrating finger. As Jack is about to ask what he's doing, a second slick hand rubs at his hole and a fingertip just barely pushes inside. Mark's grin at his shocked _oh_ sends a frisson down Jack's spine and straight to his cock.

Mark uses one hand fast and the other at a crawl, teasing Jack open with a finger while he works his hand over Jack's cock quickly. Warmth seeps into his skin from Mark's touch and leaves him craving more, gasping for it. Jack is sure he lost his sanity somewhere in the last couple seconds but he's far too distracted to care. His head tips back on a throaty moan when Mark ups it to two fingers, and his legs fall apart shakily.

"You're gorgeous like this," Mark tells him, and through the haze Jack hears the smile. He focuses on Mark, kneeling in front of him and playing his body like a harp. 

Jack grins, a breathless chuckle escaping his lips. "But not otherwise?"

Mark thrusts his fingers particularly hard and Jack moans, cursing. "Don't get cheeky or I'll stop," Mark warns.

"Whatever you want," Jack nods, swallowing hard. 

Mark slowly admits a third finger, letting go of Jack's cock to pet his stomach. Jack can only assume Mark is trying to kill him as he absolutely rails him with his hand, making Jack into one big moaning puddle. "Mark, please!" Jack cries out, legs shaking and voice unsteady.

Pulling his fingers free, Mark takes Jack and lifts him, tucking a pillow under his hips and slinging his legs over Mark's. Jack hears the lube bottle again and then Mark's hand is on his thigh and he's pushing into Jack, one slow inch at a time.

"Mark," Jack groans, arching his back. 

Huffing, Mark bottoms out and immediately pulls Jack to sit up in his lap, keeping both arms around him when his body is like Jell-O. "How you holding up?"

Jack drapes himself over Mark, nuzzling into his neck. "I think you're tryin' to fock me braindead," Jack says weakly. Either that or Mark has a vested interest in making sure he won't walk tomorrow.

Mark gives a little roll with his hips and greedily watches the way Jack whimpers and bites his lip. He does it again, and a third time, and keeps going when Jack begins a low mantra of _oh God_ s and _Mark_ s. Mark tilts Jack's head to the side and sucks on his neck, his hands firmly on Jack's ass to lift and lower with every thrust. 

Jack digs his nails into Mark's back, biting his bottom lip to muffle a scream. The writer strokes into him over and over, more often than not hitting his prostate and making Jack's vision blur until he blinks it away. Familiar tingling consumes his thighs and stomach, spreading to his groin and signalling his impending release.

"Mark," Jack half-sobs, hiding again in his neck. "I'm... close," he gasps.

This is Mark's cue to lower Jack to the bed, press him into the pillows and begin fucking him in genuine animalistic fashion. Jack lasts all of ten seconds before he cries out and comes between them, head thrown back and shaking all over. Mark slows to a steadier pace as he comes down, then plants his hands on either side of Jack and gives a handful of hard, fast thrusts. He groans low in his throat and holds himself up on trembling arms, eyes clenched shut and shivering through his orgasm. Jack nearly bites his lip through as his flaccid dick twitches with interest.

After a few moments, Mark rolls off of him, tying the condom and leaning out of bed to throw it in the trash. Jack lays there for a long moment and wonders bleakly, _How am I ever going to give him up now?_

"I can hear you thinking," Mark says, rolling over and poking Jack in the chest. "Spill."

"I don't want to ruin the mood," Jack murmurs. He fights a smile as Mark tickles him and wriggles away.

"Tell me anyway," Mark insists, running his fingers up and down Jack's arm.

Jack eyes him, sighing. "I was just thinkin' it was a shame," he says, solemn.

"What is?" Mark asks.

"That you couldn't love me if you tried," Jack explains, looking resolutely away. "And that, when she comes along, I won't have the power to hold you."

Mark puts a finger under his chin, making Jack turn and face him. His expression is morose. "When who comes along, Jack?"

"Whoever you meet and fall in love with and marry and have babies with," Jack says, pressing the heel of his hand to his eye as he tears up. "Christ."

Mark is silent, staring down at him with an unreadable look on his face. "We never should have done this," Mark finally says, sighing hard.

Words could not express the mutilation Jack feels in his chest. Numbly he sits up and gets out of bed, ignoring the mess on his belly and heading for the door.

"Jack?" Mark calls worriedly.

Jack opens the door and walks down the hall to the bathroom. Flipping the light switch, he grabs toilet paper and wipes at his stomach. 

Mark, still undressed, finds him there. "I didn't mean it like that," he says quietly, reaching for Jack's hand. Jack lets him take it. "I just meant, now that we have done it things will be harder." He takes the toilet paper from Jack and wets it at the sink, then dabs at the leftovers on Jack's belly. "Come on, would you look at me? You know I hate it when you can't look at me."

"Why is that?" Jack murmurs, peering at him. "Why do you think you can't stand it when I won't look at you? Why do you get jealous?" Jack shakes his head when Mark frowns. "Why do you want so badly to do what we just did, over and over again on every surface in this place? Why can't you live without me?"

"Jack," Mark warns. "We're not talking about this."

"I love you," Jack spits the words at him and sees his flinch. "And if you didn't hate the idea of lovin' a man, even your best friend, you could say that to me."

"No I couldn't," Mark bites out. "Because they're not true for me."

Jack throws up his hands and leaves Mark in the bathroom, stalking to his room. He hears Mark follow, but he goes into his room and slams the door. "Good night," he says coldly through the painted wood.

"Jack," Mark complains. When Jack ignores him and climbs into bed, he persists, "Come on, talk to me. Jack?"

"Oh, now you want to talk?" Jack barks. "Funny. Real funny."

"Fine," Mark snaps. A moment later a door slams and there's eerie quiet in the apartment.

For the first time in a long time, Jack cries himself to sleep.

 

The next morning, Jack gets up late with red, swollen eyes, a sore ass and a bad temper. He showers, brushes his teeth, ignores his hair and starts breakfast.

The waffle iron is preheated and Jack has just finished the batter when Mark comes out of his room dressed in a tank top and running pants and enters the kitchen. The two men share a tense look and Mark says, "I'm going for a run."

"Breakfast will be done when you get back," Jack tells him, turning away. 

Mark leaves without another word, the front door shutting behind him. Jack rests his hands on the counter and hangs his head. What a mess. 

Felix calls him not long after he finishes toasting the waffles. He leaves the stack covered on the counter, untouched considering his appetite is nowhere to be found, and answers.

"Can you explain to me why Mark is here, sweaty as a bull and ranting in gibberish about you?" Felix asks in lieu of a greeting.

"We had a fight last night," Jack tells him stonily, "after we spent the evenin' puttin' out an obscene amount of foreplay and then had wild sex in his bed."

There's a loud clatter on the other end and then Felix nearly shouts, _"You what?!"_

"Don't make me say it again," Jack grimaces, filling the sink with water.

"Alright," Felix says, shocked, "so what even happened? Did he come on to you?"

"Yes, and then some. He did all the pushin', but I certainly helped matters along," Jack says wearily. "And you can imagine how much of a fight I put up once he started seducin' me."

Felix sighs. "Jesus. I'm sorry, Jack."

"It's my fault," Jack reminds him. "I'm the one who was supposed to keep all this crap at arm's length. And look at me, I gave in at the first sign of temptation." _Look where being his friend got you,_ the tiny voice whispers. _Nowhere, with a broken heart._

"Marzia and I strongly disagree," Felix says sternly. "We know this has a lot to do with Mark and what he's got going on, the idiot. The only thing you can be blamed for is loving him." Felix pauses, some kind of commotion in the background. "Well, who did you think I was calling, twit? Seriously, Fischbach."

Jack swallows with difficulty. "He's still there?"

"For now," Felix laughs. "I'm sure he'll run right over after this and you guys can have a go again, after you fight." Pausing, Felix adds to someone in the background, "Well, then don't. See if I care."

"I--Listen," Jack says, gears turning, "I think I'm goin' to have to go."

"Alright, well call me later--" Felix starts.

"No," Jack interrupts. "I mean, _go_ go."

"Oh," Felix says, surprised. Then, "When?"

Jack looks around him at the apartment, noting with distress that his life is no longer just his. It belongs to Mark now, too. "Today," he says, before he can rethink it. 

"I honestly don't think this is going to help," Felix says. "Mark is doing the worried eyebrows, and he doesn't even know what you're up to."

"Stop talking with him there," Jack says, exasperated. "Just, I'm goin', okay? Keep Mark there until I send word. Feed him, he'll never leave."

Felix laughs. "No, that's for your cooking, not mine." He sighs. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye," Jack says, and hangs up. He stares at the phone for a long time before he turns back to the dishes. 

Jack finishes the dishes, laundry, cleaning and cooks a meal for Mark when he gets back before he starts packing. He's not delicate about it, throwing in articles of clothing from each drawer haphazardly. When the suitcase is full he zips it up and drags it to the front door, then goes back and puts all his toiletries and other necessities in his backpack.

When there's nothing left to do but leave, Jack finds himself hesitating. So much of his stuff is here, so much of his life. How will he do without this place, without Mark? He's been such an important part in Jack's life that with him gone, Jack doesn't even know where to go. If he goes to Felix, Bob, or Wade, Mark can find him. Beyond that, Jack doesn't have any friends to rely on. He's still sitting on his suitcase mulling it all over in the front hall when Jack hears a key in the lock. _What the hell?_ He jumps to his feet, but can't even run before Mark is inside and sees him.

"Jack, what are--" He stops, spotting the suitcase behind Jack. "You're leaving." He says it like a death sentence.

"I was thinkin' about it," Jack agrees, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't know if I can, yet."

"Whatever happened to "I'll never leave you"?" Mark demands. "What happened to everything you've ever said? Is that all just bullshit now?"

"No," Jack insists, watching with hopelessness as Mark's face closes off, "I meant everythin' I said to you. You are the world to me. But I can't be with you in every way but the one that matters, especially when you refuse to talk to me about it or at least let me express it."

Mark walks to the kitchen and Jack follows uneasily. Mark sees the meal waiting there for him on the counter alongside the leftover breakfast and frowns. "So this is all because I won't let you tell me that you love me?" He almost chokes on the words, but he gets them out.

"And other things," Jack says, eyeing him as Mark turns back to face him.

"Like what?" Mark yells. "Like having sex, when we both know we want it?"

"It's more than that and you know it," Jack shouts back. "Just because we can doesn't mean we should, especially considerin' our circumstances. You..." Jack sighs, his breath uneven. "You see me as a thing, not a person. I'm an assistant, I'm a stand-in lover."

"How can you say that?" Mark cries, approaching him. When Jack backs up, he follows until he barricades the Irishman against a wall. "Look at me, and tell me I've ever said anything remotely like that to you."

"You're too nice to say it," Jack says, ducking his head under Mark's gaze. "But you do it. You don't consider my feelin's before, for instance, sleepin' with me. Knowin' how much it will hurt me, you still do it because you want it."

Mark opens his mouth to argue but no sound comes out. Frustrated, he takes Jack by the arms. "So you leave because I'm kind of insensitive? You said you would stay with me until I turned you away." He studies Jack for a long time, both of them silent. "Well, I haven't yet. So stick around." He backs up, letting Jack go. He glances at the suitcase in the hall and glowers. "And unpack that stupid thing."

Defeated, Jack turns away and takes his suitcase and backpack back to his room. He unpacks everything, refolding clothes and putting them in their drawers. He replaces his toiletries in the bathroom and at the vanity in his bedroom, arranging everything the way it was before. Jack replaces the few books he had decided to bring with him on the bookshelves in the office, another mishmash of his and Mark's belongings.

Jack texts Felix, wondering how the hell Mark got past him. Felix, it turns out, fell asleep. Great.

Still in his running clothes, Mark is seated at the island eating the food Jack made earlier, and the waffles. Jack studies him from the hall for a minute, absorbing the moment, before he walks into the kitchen and leans on the island.

"What do you want for supper?" Jack asks him without looking up, fidgeting with his hands instead.

Mark grunts, mouth full. He chews and swallows, then says, "I don't care." He takes another bite.

Jack nods, moving away and heading to the fridge to take out chicken breasts to defrost. He places it in the sink, filling a large bowl with cold water, then drops the chicken in. Finished but unwilling to turn and see the slab of stone that is Mark's face, Jack leans over the sink and breathes. He hears the footsteps but doesn't move.

Mark stands beside him, studious. "What can I do?" he asks quietly.

Jack looks over at him then laughs softly. "There's nothin' you can do. This is just what I get to deal with."

"Because of me," Mark states, frowning. Jack shrugs. "Why do you put up with this? Why do you let me... use you?" He struggles with the words.

"You know why," Jack says, almost a whisper. "Bein' cruel on purpose to make me hate you isn't workin', is it?" At Mark's hunted look, Jack snorts. "Did you notice, just like I noticed what you were doin'?"

"Yes," Mark murmurs. "But I was hoping you hadn't."

"I'm a perceptive guy," Jack says without inflection. "You've got that novel chapter due by Wednesday. Have you finished?"

Mark hesitates at the topic change, but says, "No. I was going to shower then work on it."

Jack nods, backing away and drifting to the hallway. "I'll be in my room if you need me." 

He holes up in his room for most of the afternoon and some of the evening, only coming out to cook supper, not eat any--despite Mark's protesting--and then return to his room. A couple times Mark knocks on his door, and although he wants to do nothing less, Jack answers every time. 

The third time Jack opens his door it's to Mark in pyjama pants and nothing else. Colouring slightly, Jack opens his mouth but Mark shushes him. 

"Slumber party?" Mark asks, and holds up the DVD Mean Girls. "We can have a pillow fight, eat ice cream out of the container, and even talk about boys." 

Helplessly Jack laughs. "You won't enjoy that last one."

"Wait and see," Mark encourages, looking hopeful.

Jack caves, telling Mark to wait in the doorway while he changes into his PJs. He knows Mark watches when he pulls his shirt off, when he lets his pants drop, when he steps out of his underwear. He hears Mark make a noise when he bends, naked, to collect his clothes and drop them in his hamper. He's showing off on purpose, to flaunt what he knows Mark likes or to punish the man, Jack isn't sure. He turns, avoiding looking in Mark's direction, and gathers a pair of pyjama pants and, in style of Fischbach, nothing else. He slips them on facing Mark, grabs a pillow off his bed and joins his roommate again at the door. "Good to go," Jack says.

Mark's Adam's apple bobs and he eventually meets Jack's eyes. "That was not kind," he says.

"Not fun, is it?" Jack asks, stepping past him. Their bare arms brush, and Jack gets tingles down his torso. "C'mon, let's watch the shit out of some campy teenage whores."

Mark insists on a blanket fort, so they spend the better part of an hour constructing makeshift cushion walls to support a draped blanket. They pad the bottom with more blankets and some pillows. Jack makes popcorn (the real stuff, popped on the stove) and Mark sets up the movie. They watch Mean Girls, Sex and the City, and Sex and the City 2. In between movies there are bathroom breaks, snack refillings, and an actual pillow fight (Jack wins, and refuses to believe Mark let him).

As the credits roll on the third movie, Mark and Jack lay side by side in their fort and let the music fill the silence. When the credits and the music stop Jack sits up to turn it off but Mark snags his hand and mumbles, "Stay." Jack stays.

Mark doesn't let his hand go, and Jack doesn't tell him to. For a long time they lay in the blue glow from the TV screen and look at each other. Jack's heart swells slowly the longer Mark stares, smothering him from the inside out. His butterflies turn into battering rams as his diaphragm shivers with feeling, over and over. Mark holds his hand and just looks.

Letting out a shaky breath, Jack rolls onto his back. Immediately Mark is sitting up, scooting close enough that their thighs touch. "What's that sound for?" Mark asks, loud in the quiet.

"You're killin' me," Jack laughs, putting a hand over his eyes. He feels Mark shift closer and peeks from between his fingers.

Mark is leaning over him, a gentle smile on his face. His hand brushes Jack's stomach and he sucks in abruptly at the touch. Mark smooths his hand over the pale skin, his fingers pausing when they meet a scar.

"How bad was it?" Mark asks, so quiet, as his fingertips find the largest scar, the one to the left and up from Jack's navel. 

Jack knows what he's asking. He lifts his hand from his eyes. "I was in hospital for over a month," he confesses. "I was on an IV drip for almost a week, and then a liquid diet for two. Didn't wake up until three days after the accident. The doctor said there was about five different ways my luck could've gone horribly wrong, from all my injuries. They said I almost died."

Mark nods, his mouth pressed thinly. When his brow tilts, Jack's heart sings. "Hey, it's okay," he soothes, leaning up on his elbows. "It's okay. I'm here."

"I know," Mark whispers, hand stilled. "But you almost weren't. And you almost left."

"But I didn't," Jack persists. "I'm still here." He reaches out and brushes Mark's hair out of his eyes. "I'm right here."

Mark grabs his wrist, pulling Jack's hand to his mouth and kissing the palm. Jack's stomach flips, battering rams at full force, and he holds his breath with wide eyes. Mark kisses each fingertip, each knuckle. He finds the hairline scar across the back of Jack's hand and kisses that, too. Mark presses his face to Jack's palm and sighs.

Tentatively Jack sits ups and Mark, instead of letting his hand go, uses it to pull Jack closer to him. Jack goes willingly, and Mark tugs him until he's sitting in his lap.

"I almost didn't have you," Mark says lowly, half to himself. "You would've never been here and I wouldn't have ever known you."

_He loves me,_ Jack thinks with sudden clarity. Mark loves him... Mark loves him! His heart soars as if given wings and Jack opens his mouth to say something when he stops. Mark has no idea how to express his feelings, or that they're even there. Self-reflection for Mark is looking in a mirror. Jack smothers his sigh, turning mournful eyes on Mark. Knowing how Mark feels doesn't help when Mark himself refuses to see it.

Mark sees his face and frowns. "What is it?"

"Just thinkin' how I'd feel without you around," Jack lies. "I didn't like what I saw."

Mark nods, smiling crookedly. "And you tried to leave," he chuckles.

"Only because you turned into a menace," Jack retorts, laughing. "Tryin' to get me to fall out of love with you. Like I even could."

Jack sees Mark's face change, just slightly. The skin around his eyes gets a little tighter, his mouth loses some of its merry curve. Jack pretends he doesn't notice. "Anyway," he pushes on. "It's got to be at least two a.m. We should get to bed."

"Can--" Mark begins hesitantly. Jack's stomach drops to his feet and he waits for the question he knows is coming. "Can you stay with me tonight?" Mark finally asks. "We can just sleep, if you want," he adds hurriedly. 

Well, Jack wasn't expecting the second part. He looks at Mark, who looks back, and those battering rams threaten to return. "Sure," he says, and watches Mark's face light up.

They disassemble the fort, folding blanket after blanket and returning the cushions to the couches. Mark goes to the bathroom while Jack turns off the lights and cleans up the kitchen. Jack waits for him at Mark's bedroom door, and when he arrives Jack leads the way into the room.

He feels Mark behind him, unsurprised when he turns at the bed and Mark is right there. There's a question in Mark's eyes as he lifts his hands, and Jack feels his heart give in for the millionth time.

Jack lets Mark brush his hands up his abdomen, his stomach jerking at Mark's first touch. Mark eases forward until they're standing close, thighs grazing at every movement, breaths combined. They haven't even started and already Jack feels his pulse under his skin, thrumming with a need to be pleased. Mark's body, Mark's touch, sings to him.

Mark's head is bowed, his focus on his hands as he teases the skin above Jack's pyjama bottoms. Jack lets out a puff of air when Mark snaps the waistband lightly, then dips his left hand beneath the cloth as his right smooths a path up Jack's chest. Shivering with more than cold, Jack rests his arms over Mark's shoulders and indulges himself, combing his hands through Mark's hair and scratching his scalp.

A tremor flows the length of Mark's torso. "I could live on what you're doing right now," Mark murmurs happily, tilting his head so Jack can continue grooming him in earnest.

Jack smiles softly, staying quiet. He draws his nails gently across the back of Mark's head and smiles wider at the sound he makes. Jack's hands caress as they brush Mark's hair back from his forehead. Leaning forward, Jack presses his lips to Mark's forehead, then again on his nose, on each cheek, on his chin. Mark's hands pause as Jack showers him in little kisses, and when Jack pulls back Mark is looking at him solemnly.

Jack blushes and takes a step back, an apology on his tongue, but Mark catches his wrists. "Don't," Mark says, his tone kind. He lets Jack go and Mark slides his hands up his arms, stopping on his neck. "Don't apologize for touching me," Mark whispers, bending.

His mouth just barely touches Jack's lips. "Kiss me," Mark orders quietly. Jack leans in, closing the gap and fitting his mouth perfectly to Mark's. Grabbing the back of Jack's thighs, Mark lifts him easily and crawls onto the bed where he gently lowers Jack down, immediately following.

Staring up at Mark, Jack watches as he slips off his pyjama pants one-handed and discards them on the floor. When Mark looks down at him Jack nods and his own pyjamas follow. Mark sits back on his haunches and devours Jack with his eyes. Jack's half-hard cock twitches at the attention, making Mark grin.

"Somebody's eager," Mark muses. "Is little Jack excited for the main event?"

"Big Jack is, too," Jack assures him dryly, and Mark laughs.

Still chuckling, Mark climbs up his body dropping kisses as he goes. Jack sighs as Mark's hand stroke his thighs, easing them apart. Without warning Mark's mouth surrounds Jack's cock and sinks down, his tongue laving its underside eagerly.

Half-sitting up in shock, Jack groans and drops again. _Mark sucks dick,_ Jack thinks blankly. _Mark sucks good dick,_ Jack amends, as Mark draws up and worships the head of his cock with his tongue. He has a fist around the base, twisting and stroking what he doesn't get at with his mouth, and Jack garbles out a moan when Mark's other hand massages his balls.

"Christ, Mark," Jack says jerkily. "Where the hell--"

Mark backs off, saying idly, "If you're still talking then I'm not doing it right."

"Oh, no, you're doin' it ri--" Jack chokes, unable to finish because Mark's lips are around him again and he's sucking like his life depends on it. His hands are gone, placed at the inside of each thigh and holding them far apart. Mark bobs his head vigorously, slurping and drooling in equal parts. 

Jack can't look away. He props himself up on his elbows and stares, biting his lip to keep his sounds to a minimum. The blowjob itself is horrifically effective, never mind the sight of it. Mark glances up at him, then, and Jack is held by those brown eyes as their owner makes a mockery of pornography. A tight, hot feeling spears through his body, arousal hitting him like a box truck. Jack's head drops back with another moan, deep and wanting.

Mark's hands claw in Jack's thighs and he hums low in his throat, pausing for the briefest moment. The vibration resonates through Jack's skin and strums a chord of pleasure all the way down his cock and through his limbs. Trembling, Jack bucks his hips helplessly but Mark just pins him down and keeps going.

With a gasp Jack falls back and reaches out, burying his hands in Mark's hair. He scratches and tugs, pets and pulls, and Mark starts making sounds of his own. On a particularly loud muffled moan of his partner, Jack bites his lip so hard he draws blood when he feels the sound, a heady buzzing sensation on his cock.

"Mark," Jack pleads, and he's amazed and ashamed to realize that he's crying.

Pulling off with a pop, Mark slides up his body and takes in his split lip and tears. "Jack," Mark says softly, cupping Jack's face in his hands. He places a chaste kiss to Jack's swollen lip and wipes his tears away with his thumbs. "What am I going to do with you?"

Jack clasps his hands around Mark's wrists. "I'm makin' a habit of this "cryin' durin' sex" thing," he says with a chuckle. 

"This time I think we can blame me," Mark says, tongue-in-cheek. He kisses Jack gently, then eases him into a sitting position. He stretches to retrieve the condoms and lube from the bedside table, giving Jack an excellent view of his spectacular ass. Unable to resist, he bends and bites into the flesh there.

Mark rolls away with a yelp, then faux scowls as he sits up. "Save that for next time, McLoughlin," he teases.

Jack shrugs, licking at his cut. "Couldn't help it," he admits with a grin. 

Ripping open a condom, Mark asks him, "How do you want me?"

The words send a shiver down Jack's spine. "Ah, doggy?" he hazards, and Mark's eyes glisten with lust.

"After you," Mark says, gesturing to the pillows and lubing his fingers.

Jack shuffles on his knees until he's in front of Mark facing the headboard and bends over, putting his face on a pillow. He turns to the side, glances back at Mark, and nods.

Mark is immediately there, slippery fingers drawing out a gasp from Jack. Mark doesn't waste time. He eases a finger inside and then, when the resistance isn't too great, a second one right after. Jack's air is punched out of him as Mark instantly finds his prostate and rubs it persistently.

Stroking Jack's back with his free hand, Mark works his fingers diligently until he fits a third. As soon as Jack is accustomed to the stretch Mark's fingers are gone and he feels the bed shift beneath him.

Jack shivers when Mark kisses a trail up his spine, then nips at the back of his neck. Mark lines up behind him, one hand on Jack's belly and the other at his hip, and pushes.

Jack's eyes roll back as he's filled and he swears it's better than last time. A thousand times better. Mark lies along his back, an arm wrapped around Jack's chest, and he gyrates his hips forward. Jack moans, fisting his hands in the pillow and hiding his face. 

Mark teases a nipple with his fingertip, eliciting a squeaky and muffled groan from Jack. "C'mon," Mark coaxes, rolling his hips slowly but thoroughly. "Move that ass, baby." Flushing heavily, Jack turns his face away from the pillow and pushes back to meet Mark's thrusts. "Yeah, that's it, keep going." 

Panting with effort Jack matches every one of Mark's movements with his own, starting up a languorous rhythm. Mark, curved over Jack's back as if he was made to fit, licks a wet stripe up the side of his lover's neck and then nibbles where neck meets shoulder. For every rock of Mark's body, Jack moans. He feels a crawling warmth spread through him, due to either his deep blush or active lovemaking. 

Above him Jack hears Mark's breaths getting harder, feels his chest dampening with sweat against his back. Their skin slides together with each thrust and lights every nerve ending Jack has on fire. Letting Jack hold them up (mostly), Mark eases off his other hand that supports some of his weight and puts it to good use, caressing down Jack's sides and stomach, tweaking his nipples. When both hands start fondling his cock, intermittently teasing and mind-blowing, Jack throws his head back and cries out.

Mark puts a hand over his mouth, gently but still there, and Jack wagers he's probably being a bit on the loud side of things. He can't find it in him to care.

Jack gasps, a desperate sound, as Mark sucks on the side of his neck fervently. _Definitely leaving a hickey,_ Jack thinks with his last rational brain cell. Mark's hand at his cock starts pumping him with intent, and Mark's hips grow more forceful but not necessarily faster.

It's a slow burn, Jack's orgasm. It creeps up on him, masked in the heat of his body, and sets him trembling. He feels the pleasure like a rolling wave, again and again, and he can't help it--Jack's eyes leak into the pillow as his orgasm consumes him. Mark moves the hand over his mouth to wrap around his chest and lift him up to sit in Mark's lap. Much more exposed and still moaning (and crying), Jack's whole chest reddens with embarrassment when Mark holds him there and keeps moving his hips to drive Jack wild.

Eventually Jack is wrung out, completely empty of feeling except a tingling, pleasant numbness. Mark is still rocking up into him to meet his own end, and when he does Jack hears his drawn out groan and feels the jerkiness of his movements, the shake in his hands.

Mark collapses onto the bed, taking Jack with him and then rolls to the side to avoid the wet spot, his chest heaving with the force of his breaths. Jack can't meet his gaze as he rolls over, wiping at his eyes.

"Jack?" Mark pants, and there's a hand on his back.

"'M okay," Jack says.

"Look at me," Mark requests, his hand hooking Jack's shoulder and pulling him onto his back. His face softens. "You big crybaby."

Jack scoffs, avoiding looking at Mark's face. "It's your fault. You practically ruined me."

"That good, eh?" Mark chuckles breathlessly.

"You know it was," Jack says shortly.

Mark is quiet for so long that Jack's anxiety starts to get the better of him. Despite likely not being able to walk, Jack sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed.

"Hey," Mark says plaintively, "where do you think you're going?" The bed moves beneath him and then Mark is beside him, looking grumpy. 

"Answer me somethin'," Jack says instead of answering, staring down at his feet.

"Sure," Mark replies, but he sounds wary.

Jack sighs. "If I had left, what would you have done?"

The question seems to take Mark by surprise. "Um, well for starters I would've weeded you out from wherever you hid yourself. Then I would want to know why, talk it out and make you come back."

"Would there be an instance where you didn't come lookin' for me?" Jack asks him, worried.

"No," Mark says immediately. "Of course not. You're my best friend."

"With benefits," Jack adds, watching Mark grimace. "Don't deny it. For you, that's all this is."

"It is not," Mark argues. "I... You mean a lot to me."

Jack snorts. "That's not enough and you know it." Mark is silent and Jack continues, "My condition for us sleepin' together was that I get to say it. Since it's already happened twice and I doubt I'll deny you anymore, I think I've earned this."

Mark's eyes are wide when Jack looks up. He's opening his mouth but Jack beats him to it. "I love you," Jack tells him, his heart in the words. Then his heart breaks when all Mark does is look away.

Standing on shaky legs, Jack slips back into his pyjamas. He stumbles out of the room across the hall to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Mark doesn't call out or come after him.

 

"This is pathetic," Felix scowls, seated at the island with his wife.

In the middle of making margaritas, Jack looks up with surprise. Bob and Wade, hovering nearby in the living room, drift over to join the conversation. 

"You two," Felix elaborates, pointing to Jack and then Mark, who's filling the ice cube trays with fresh water. "How long have you been dancing around each other?"

Mark colours, his brow lowering, and says gruffly, "Stuff it, Felix."

"No, I'm curious, too," Wade interjects, leaning on his elbows on the island. "Just exactly how long do you plan on screwing Jack before you find someone else?"

Mark glowers at him and doesn't bother responding. His ears hot, Jack turns back to the blender and adds the lime juice before placing the lid and turning it on. In reality, it's been over a month since Mark and he started sleeping together. Almost every night he's in Mark's bed, but he never stays. Jack never allows himself to stay and Mark never says anything. Jack knows that while Mark may love him (and not know) that doesn't mean he's suddenly going to lavish Jack with attention and affection. He knows it's only a matter of time, like Wade said, before Mark finds someone to fill in the hole that Jack is keeping warm for him. 

Jack waits as long as he can, but eventually it's obvious the mixture is more than blended enough, and reluctantly Jack turns the blender off. 

Smirking, Marzia wonders, "So then neither of you mind if I set Jack up on a date for this weekend?"

Whirling to face her, Mark snaps, "Like hell you are."

Felix raises his eyebrows. "Oh? Why not?"

Mark searches for an answer before going with, "He's too busy. I've got a lot going on."

Bob, Felix, Marzia and Wade all laugh. "Right," Wade draws out, laughing harder when Mark glares at him.

Jack pours the margaritas and distributes them, saying, "He's not wrong. We've got a press thing next week."

"Don't you mean Mark has a press thing?" Bob says. "You don't ever go with him, do you?"

"Well, no," Jack admits, then hides in his margarita as he takes a mouthful.

"So you're free, then," Marzia deduces, pleased. "There's this great guy at my work--"

"Not. Happening," Mark bites out, white-knuckling the glass in his hand.

Marzia continues as if Mark hadn't spoken. "He's vice president of accounting and he's a total sweetheart. He keeps dating but isn't having any luck and I told him I'd ask you. So?" she asks expectantly.

"Oh, uh," Jack falters, not even thinking about looking at Mark, "I don't know. That's kind of..."

"Perfect?" Bob offers. "C'mon, you know you haven't been out in ages. All you do is hang out with us."

"I'm okay with that," Jack says quickly. "I like you guys."

"Sweetums," Wade coos, a hand at his heart. He ruins it by grinning. "Seriously. Go out, have some fun. Get laid."

There's an awful shattering sound and Jack spins to see Mark gritting his teeth, his fist full of half a broken glass. The remainder of the glass is on the floor along with the margarita it held.

"Oh my God," Jack cries, setting his glass down before grabbing a towel and hurrying over. "Jesus, what the--Are you insane?" he shrieks, grabbing Mark's hand and plucking the glass pieces from his bloody hand. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Stock-still and fuming, Mark mutters, "I twitched." When Wade guffaws in disbelief Mark glares at him. 

Throwing the pieces of glass in the sink, Jack frets, "This is stupid even for you, Fischbach. C'mon, to the bathroom, I've got antiseptic in the medicine cabinet." When he steps to pull Mark along, he jumps back in pain. "Ow, shit."

"Be careful, there's glass everywhere," Mark tells him, a little late.

"Whose fault is that, then?" Jack snaps, tiptoeing out of the mess and carting Mark along.

"It's like we're not even here," Bob says with amusement. Jack looks up to see his friends grinning at him, at them. 

"Drink your margarita," Jack suggests, then disappears down the hall and into the bathroom with Mark. "Sit," he commands, pointing to the toilet, and Mark does. Jack searches through the cabinet until he comes across rubbing alcohol, gauze and antiseptic cream. He grabs a clean cloth from the shelf and goes to kneel in front of Mark.

Jack grimaces at Mark's hand when he opens it. There appears to be no more glass, but Jack won't know until he rinses it. His palm is covered in short and long lacerations, his fingers peppered with them. The whole of his hand is a bloodbath. He pulls Mark's hand to rest under the tap. "This is goin' to suck," Jack warns him, then turns the cold tap on.

Mark howls, trying to jerk his arm back but Jack holds him still. The water runs red and then pink and Jack swallows the nausea that threatens his stomach. Gritting his teeth, Mark averts his face and clamps his hand on his thigh, twitching with pain as the cold water clears the wound of any more glass. After a solid minute under the tap Jack pulls his hand away and splotches the cloth with alcohol until it's damp. 

"Let me guess, this is going to suck," Mark says dryly, his face white. 

Shoulders drooping, Jack admits, "Yes." He spreads Mark's hand out flat, ignoring his noise of pain, and dabs the cloth along his palm. Mark hisses out a tense breath at the contact but refrains from moving and doesn't pull his hand away. Jack finishes the palm and pats each finger and his thumb and then everything again, and dries his hand with a clean towel. Finally, he takes a large dollop of cream and spreads it across Mark's hand in a thin layer, then starts wrapping his hand in gauze.

"What would I do without you?" Mark says quietly, making Jack glance up.

Jack's mouth twitches. "Probably break things a little less," he guesses.

Mark shakes his head. "What am I going to do without you?" he says. The words, and the way he says them, are different from before. It speaks more of an inevitable finality. 

"Don't start, okay?" Jack pleads. He finishes wrapping and secures the gauze with tape. "You're the one who doesn't want all of me. You can't complain that I'll go when you're tryin' to replace me." So much for that being irreplaceable thing.

"I'm not," Mark says at once, standing when Jack does. "I haven't been dating at all, I--"

"If that meant something, I would care," Jack says harshly. "But it doesn't. I know you don't date. But you're not celibate either, are you? At least you weren't before we started havin' sex." Jack sighs, glowering at the floor. "I know why you never bring me to the parties, the press events, the galas. They're your huntin' ground. That, and what use is a measly assistant in a sea of celebrities?"

"Stop it," Mark urges, curving his good hand around Jack's middle and pulling him close. "I don't--It's not like that."

"Then you want only me?" Jack asks, but his voice is dull. 

"I think so? Yes," Mark insists, looking imploringly at him.

Jack studies him and his heart sinks. "Do you love me?" he asks softly.

Mark stiffens, his expression going frigid. Jack disentangles himself and leaves the bathroom with a slight limp. 

"Jack, your foot--" Mark begins, following.

"Never mind my fockin' foot," Jack snaps, his accent thickening. He goes into the kitchen, ignoring his friends and heading for the closet with the mop. He takes it out and more or less slams the bucket down into the sink to fill with hot water, adding a splash of soap. While it fills, Jack kneels down in the mess and starts plucking glass off the floor.

"Do you want any help?" Marzia asks after a tense moment.

"No," Jack growls. He feels Mark lingering at the edge of the kitchen and stands when he doesn't see any more shards on the floor. He fishes the ones from the sink and dumps them all in the trash, then rinses his hands and puts the bucket on the floor. 

"Jack," Mark tries. When he doesn't answer, instead vigorously mopping, Mark tries again. "Jack, listen."

Pausing, Jack leans on the mop and stares at the floor. "What," he wonders mildly, "could you possibly have to say that I haven't heard already?"

"Mark, stop while you're ahead," Felix suggests, glancing between them warily.

"Stay out of this," Mark barks at him. Felix lifts his hands in innocence. 

"You leave him alone, you grinch," Jack points a finger at Mark. "Christ, have you got a temper. We can fock all night long but the second I mention feelin's you run for the door. But when our friends try to help me get out of the disaster that you put us in, you get jealous and start breakin' shit!"

Mark's eyes blaze. "The disaster I put us in?" he rages. "What about you? Whoever told you to get all gooey over me? We could've been friends, but you had to go and--"

"And what, fall in love with you?" Jack retorts, revelling in Mark's flinch. "Yes, because I chose to fall for the glaringly romantically inept, most close-hearted individual on the planet of my own free will."

"We should go," Wade says, setting his drink down.

"No, stay put," Jack says, massaging his forehead and glancing over. He rinses the mop in the water, gives the floor another quick swipe and sets it down. "I'm done, anyway." After wringing out the mop he dumps the bucket of water and puts them both away.

Turning, Jack glances at Mark as he grabs another glass, fills it with margarita mix from the blender and holds it out to him. "Here."

Studying him, Mark takes it in his good hand. "Thanks."

Felix sighs. "I feel like a kid whose parents are fighting."

Jack smirks. "Hear that, Daddy? The kids are uncomfortable." Mark averts his gaze, cheeks pink.

"Please don't call him Daddy while I am anywhere near you, ever," Bob says, evidently distressed. Wade laughs delightedly.

"So, Jack," Marzia says, and he looks at her. "What about that date?"

Jack hesitates, glancing at Mark. His roommate's face is stony, no emotion on it whatsoever. While Jack loves him and it's clear (to everyone but Mark) that Mark has some kind of feeling for him, Mark doesn't seem to want anything from him but friendship and frequent sex. Neither of which feeds Jack's aching heart.

"Yes," Jack says, "I'll go."

Marzia lets out a happy laugh. "Great, I'll text him now. Do you want his number?"

"I... sure," Jack says, already regretting his decision. But he still takes the number.

"His name is Ben, and he looks like this," Marzia says, turning her phone around to show Jack a picture of a handsome young Caucasian man, blond and green-eyed. Jack, surprisingly, finds him attractive. 

Jack's phone buzzes in his hand and he looks to see a message from the number he just added.

_Hey, this is Ben. You're Jack, right? Marzia's friend?_

Jack looks up when Wade laughs. Not seeing anything worth laughing at, Jack turns and is confronted with the absolute gloomiest expression on Mark's face he's ever seen.

"He says you're adorable," Marzia tells him, making Jack turn back to her. "And he loves that you're Irish. His mother's family is from there, but he's pretty American himself."

"Uh," Jack says.

"He's got like, a slew of brothers and sisters, like you," Marzia carries on. "Imagine his and your family meeting! What a zoo that'd be."

Jack gives her a smile but it's painful. He lifts his phone and stares at the message for a long time. Finally he replies, _Yeah, I'm Jack. Good to meet you._

Ben's reply is quick. _You too! So, not to be crazy forward, but would you want to meet for coffee sometime this week? Marzia can't stop singing your praises._

Jack hesitates again, looking over at Mark. He's on his phone, deaf to the world around him and looking bored. Worriedly Jack sees that he's using his injured hand to use his phone but Mark doesn't appear overly concerned or in that much pain. _It's not your business anyway,_ Jack tells himself. Mark has made it more than clear that Jack has no claim over him.

_Sounds great. When and where?_

 

Jack bikes to his date, because he's not about to ask Mark for a ride. Before he left, he was making sure everything was done and Mark didn't need anything else. When he asked Mark if he was good to go, Mark replied, "I'm just super. Go on your little date," and then slammed the office door in Jack's face. It's an attest to Jack's depth of feeling for him that his first thought was if Mark hurt his hand slamming the door. Right after, of course, was the hurt of Jack himself.

In the five days since Jack got Ben's number, Mark has been reticent and distant. He barely speaks to Jack and if he does it's about work or the house or their friends. Jack learns to keep his thoughts to himself unless they're directly related to something besides... well, himself. At night, because even now Jack can't refuse him, Mark pulls Jack to his bed and destroys him all over again. He makes Jack come violently, persistently, sometimes twice in a night. But the caring, gentle version of him is gone. This Mark, while not forceful or hostile in any way, is far away and silent. There's no more bedroom conversation, no more banter during sex. It's exactly what Jack feared.

Mark is starting to hate him.

Jack knew this could happen. It made sense, considering Mark is so closeted about his emotions, that when he can't get his unrealistic way he would react negatively. His feelings, whatever they were for Jack, are souring in the face of Jack pursuing someone else. The jealousy must be eating him alive.

_What am I doing?_ Jack thinks to himself as he locks up his bike. 

Striding into the Starbucks Jack keeps his eyes peeled for Ben, and he spots him in the corner in a cushy armchair. Jack joins him, saying as he approaches, "Hey, Ben?"

Ben looks up and smiles widely. "Jack, hey, glad you could make it," he greets, standing. He offers a hand and Jack shakes it, Ben's grip lingering where Jack would've let go. 

Once they order and receive their drinks, they sit in the same spot, and Jack feels his nerves taking hold. While he's sure they have something to do with being on a date, Jack doesn't bother lying to himself. Mark is in the forefront of his mind, his accusing eyes as he slams the door clear in his thoughts. 

But Jack forces himself to smile, to flirt. He's been so long without a date that it's a little awkward getting back into the swing of it, but Ben doesn't seem to mind. In fact, Ben seems to be having a great time, smiling and laughing. It makes Jack guilty that he doesn't even remember what he said last.

It's been over an hour and Ben is in the middle of a story--some work party fiasco--when Jack's phone rings. At first he wants to ignore it, but then his little voice reminds him it might be an emergency.

"Sorry," Jack says as he takes his phone from his pocket. Ben waves him away with a smile and Jack checks the call display--Felix--and answers, "Hello?"

"Jack, thank God," Felix says immediately, and Jack's throat tightens significantly. "Where are you? Mark--"

"What's wrong?" Jack asks, sitting straighter.

"Mark is in the hospital, he had a minor heart attack," Felix rushes out. "They said he was drinking, he was completely hammered when they brought him in. Where were you?"

"He's allergic to alcohol," Jack says numbly. "He knows that, why would he--"

"Jack," Felix interrupts, "shut up and just get over here! Where are you?"

Helplessly Jack looks at Ben, whose face is concerned. "I... I'm on a date."

Felix is silent, then, "Shit. Fuck." He swears in Swedish, a long string of angry profanities, before saying, "Okay, well tell your date too bad and get over here." Felix names the hospital and hangs up.

Jack lowers his phone slowly, face drained of all colour. "I have to go," he says bleakly, standing. "My friend... had an accident. He's in the hospital. I have to go, I'm sorry."

Ben stands, nodding. "That's okay, just go," he says, smiling. "I hope he's okay. I'll call you?"

"Sure," Jack says without thinking, his legs already carrying him back outside. 

He has to use GPS on his phone to find the right hospital which slows him down a bit but he makes up for it in actual speed, pedalling like a maniac. At the hospital Jack throws his bike down, haphazardly locks it to something and rushes inside.

"Fischbach," Jack gasps to the receptionist. "Mark Edward Fischbach, he's here, I need to see him."

"Just a moment," the older woman behind the counter says, then taps on her keyboard like a dinosaur. Jack jitters in place, impatiently waiting, and it's a minute before she finally says, "Yes, he's on the fourth floor, just take the elevator and go to--" 

"Thanks," Jack rushes out, and he's gone. He takes the stairs since he's not in a really patient mood, and bursts from the stairwell on the fourth floor. He follows the hallway at a jog, glancing left and right at every junction and following the signs to the waiting area. He turns a corner and sees his friends, Marzia, Bob, Wade and Felix, sitting in a clump in a large room filled with chairs. He hurries over.

"How is he?" Jack gasps, then bends over with his hands on his knees and breathes.

"Damn, Jack, did you run here?" Wade wonders.

"He biked," Felix answers for him. Then he says to Jack, "We don't know yet, but the doctor said he's resting now."

Jack nods, dropping into a chair as he catches his breath. "What happened? Why...?"

Nobody will look at him. Dread grips him in cold claws. "Because I went on a date," Jack answers himself bitterly. "Because I wasn't there."

"No," Marzia says instantly, frowning. "Mark did this all on his own. Silly idiot that he is."

"But I wasn't there," Jack nearly shouts at her. "I'm always there. Always."

"It's not your responsibility to take care of him," Felix says after a moment of silence. "Mark's all grown up, issues or no. He has to accept what happens, and not just..."

"Drink himself to death?" Jack mutters darkly, his heart hurting at the words.

"Right," Felix says, sighing.

They're quiet after that, all of them content to keep their somber thoughts to themselves. Jack sits, studying his fingernails, and knows without even considering it that he won't be dating again until Mark has sorted his emotions out and moved on to his own special someone. There's no contest, really. Go on a couple dates with possibly nice people, or preserve the longevity of his best friend and the love of his life? It's an easy choice.

He stews in his misery for hours as they wait for more information and Jack comes to the conclusion that Mark really is his responsibility, the way Mark is acting. If this is how Mark is going to react when Jack tries to remove himself from Mark's romantic life, then Jack isn't hard pressed to find any more dates. And it's not as if Jack was enjoying himself more than he does in Mark's company, anyway. 

Jack knows what he has to do, and that's grin and bear it. Mark refuses to keep him, sure, but he also refuses to share him.

A female doctor comes up to Felix some four hours after Jack arrives, and the group stands in unison. 

"Well," the doctor sighs, "your friend's in the clear. We ran tests and it looks like he'll be fine, but obviously we recommend no more drinking of any kind. Even one drink occasionally is now off-limits," the doctor stresses.

"That won't be a problem," Jack says earnestly. 

The doctor eyes him, continuing, "You can come see him. Does he have family in town?"

Felix shakes his head. "His mom and brother live in Cincinnati."

Nodding, the doctor leads them down a different hall than the one Jack came through and to a private single-patient room. "We're keeping him overnight to make sure there aren't complications, but you can pick him up in the morning. Keep the conversation light," the doctor adds. "He's still in rough shape. No outbursts." Then she opens the door and they file inside, shutting the door behind them.

Mark blinks at them from the bed, where he's hooked up to at least three different monitors and computers. He's dressed in a hospital gown and his hand is heavily encumbered by an IV and a clamp on his finger. He smiles blearily at them.

"Hi," he croaks.

The rest of them walk to the bed muttering their hellos, but Jack hangs back at the door and stares. He has a stark recollection of himself in the hospital, so long ago and also just yesterday. Ghostly memories of pain, endless, foggy, bleary pain assault him. How he had hoped to never see another hospital again.

"You look like shit," Felix tells him with a grin, and he does. His skin is pale, clammy-looking and even now there's a light sheen of sweat across Mark's forehead. He's far from a small man, but he looks like it in that bed, in that gown, connected to the machines that saved him. 

Mark shrugs a shoulder, smiling lopsidedly. "Yeah, feel like it, too." He looks around, frowning, and then spots Jack. His features distort in subtle pain.

Jack moves to the bed, and Felix shuffles to the side without being asked. Jack stands at Mark's hand and stares down at him. "Hey, boo," he says quietly, but with a smile.

Mark's mouth curves upward. "Hey, snookums." He stares just a bit too long at Jack and he's restless enough that his wants are obvious, at least to Jack. Jack reaches down and places a gentle hand over Mark's wrist, and Mark visibly relaxes.

"You scared us, man," Wade says, and Mark looks at him. "Like, actually."

Mark nods solemnly. "I know." He swallows. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." 

Marzia swats Mark on the leg, and he jumps, barking in surprise. "You tool," she gripes. "Why did you drink?"

Mark looks away, down at his lap. "... I got lonely."

"Oh, and calling one of us is so hard," Felix says hotly. Then he calms himself and says, "You could have just said something about it, instead of... this."

"The person I wanted to talk to was unavailable," Mark says in a mutter. 

They all know who he means. "Like I wouldn't drop anythin' for you if you needed me," Jack sighs. "And you know it."

Mark's mouth twists. "Fine, alright. I got into a mood and I didn't... I just wanted one to take the edge off, but then I got carried away."

"Well," Jack says, "now you don't get to drink at all. Ever. Forever and ever." 

Mark shrugs. "Fine with me. This sucked."

"I'll bet," Bob says. "What kind of slop are they feeding you here, anyway?"

"Utter garbage," Mark whines, staring forlornly at the empty food tray to the left of his bed, then peeking over at Jack. "I know I've been bad, honey bun, but could I have cookies when I come home?" Jack gives him a fond look, his heart thawing.

"I'm going to throw up," Wade says casually to Bob. "Stab my face and end it all."

Marzia chuckles. "Jeez, just propose already, Mark."

Mark's face closes like a curtain falling. Jack looks away and pulls his hand back, taking a small step away from the bed. So much for reconciliation. _One step forward, and two behind,_ Jack thinks coldly.

Felix gives Mark a meaningful look. "Well. I guess we'll let you rest."

"What? You just got here," Mark complains. "Keep me company for a while, at least. I have to stay until morning."

"Then stay until morning," Wade says cheekily. "We'll see you tomorrow, buddy."

One by one they leave the room with waves and good-byes and then Jack is the last out. He looks back at Mark wistfully. Despite hating the idea of staying in a hospital at all, Jack hates leaving Mark alone even more. He's just closed the door when Felix is suddenly on him.

"Hey," Jack says, surprised.

"Hey yourself," Felix says. "Stay here tonight."

"Uh," says Jack.

"Great," Felix enthuses. "Give us a call if you need anything."

"Um," Jack tries, but Felix is already moving away with the others, towards the elevator. "Wait," he calls, and they turn. "Am I even allowed to stay all night?"

"Probably not," Marzia says. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

_Bribery is in my future,_ Jack thinks dismally as his friends disappear into the elevator. Jack reenters Mark's room, and Mark's head pops up excitedly as the door opens. His elation grows when he sees Jack.

"Hey," Jack greets. "Looks like I'm stickin' around."

Mark's eyebrows rise. "Where's everyone else?"

"They deserted me," Jack says. "I think they want us to talk it out." _It's like they don't even know Mark,_ Jack thinks dryly.

"Ah," Mark sighs. "No better time than when I can't run, right?"

Jack chuckles, pulling up the single chair in the room to sit at Mark's bedside. "They mean well, but they also know what's been goin' on. I think we have a lot of workin' out to do, if our relationship lately is anythin' to go by." He pauses, thoughtful. "Also..." Jack punches Mark in the thigh, hard. "You really are a jackass, you know that?"

Mark yelps and jumps, hand flying to his thigh. "Fucking cock! That hurt!"

Jack sits back, arms folded. "Good. You scared the piss out of me. I broke speed laws on my fockin' bicycle gettin' here."

Rubbing his leg, Mark leans back against his pillow. "You were worried about me? Cupcake," Mark purrs, batting his eyelashes.

"Do you not understand the concept of love?" Jack wonders. "Because I can lay it out for you. I've got a pop-up book."

"Picture books, my favourite," Mark says, straight-faced. Then he adds, "I _am_ sorry. I didn't want to make anybody lose their shit or anything. I just... I fucked up. I thought about you, out with that... accountant," his spits the word acidly, "and my mind snapped." He rubs his eyes tiredly. "I knew exactly what I was doing, how bad it could be, and I still did it. I didn't care." He smiles in a bitter, self-hating sort of way. "Like an asshole, I wanted you to leave him for me, and you did."

"Of course I did," Jack says, exasperated. "Haven't you been listenin'? You're it, for me." 

"Then why did you go?" Mark demands. "You knew I didn't want you to."

"No, that would've been pretty hard to miss," Jack muses. "I only went because I knew, if I didn't, that I would never know if I could. And I know now that I can't," he says softly, and Mark's face changes into something completely different--wonder. "I can't leave you. Not only because, apparently, you become destructive when I'm not around but also because without you, I'm less of myself." Jack laughs quietly. "I went on a fockin' date and I had to actively work at payin' attention, at talkin' and flirtin'."

Mark is silent for a minute. "You really do love me," he finally says, half to himself. 

Jack doesn't respond, head bowed as he thinks sadly, _Not that it helps me any._

"I'm sorry," Mark says when the silence has stretched too long again. When Jack looks up, he clarifies, "For how I've acted this week. I shut you out in every way because I thought you were deserting me, trying to get over me." Mark swallows. "But I couldn't keep away from you and I took advantage of that. I know how miserable I made you with my shitty attitude and my... less than savoury affection." Some colour comes back into Mark's face, telling Jack that he's referring to the way they had sex.

"I could've done without that," Jack agrees quietly. He fidgets with the bands around his wrists. "How's your hand?"

"It's okay," Mark says, smiling a bit. "The nurse redressed it while I was conked out." He studies Jack for a brief moment. "How are you doing?"

Jack looks at him, surprised. "I'm fine. Better than before."

"Are you, really?" Mark queries. "Because I saw that face of yours, earlier. Standing in the doorway looking like someone died."

"Someone almost did," Jack tells him sharply. "So yes, I was upset. Seein' as how you're perfectly fine, if stupid, I'm okay now. And for the record, if you ever scare me like this again then I will never make you another taco in your life."

Mark narrows his eyes. "Them's fightin' words," he growls playfully.

"I'll beat up an invalid, don't think I won't," Jack warns him, just as the door opens and a redheaded nurse bustles in. She looks between the two of them with a quirky grin, walking to the bed to check Mark's many machines.

As he stands to get out of her path, Jack notices how beautiful she is in an offhand way. But when he looks at Mark, his best friend is staring at the nurse with interest. Swallowing painfully, Jack hovers near the door and looks anywhere but at Mark's enraptured expression.

_What have I done to deserve this?_ Jack thinks bleakly as he watches the nurse return his gaze. She's into him. Of course she is, she'd have to be insane not to find Mark attractive.

"How are we feeling?" the nurse asks Mark, smiling prettily. 

"Getting there," Mark grins, sitting up a bit. "Could a guy get a decent meal in this place though? I think my stomach is on strike after that... feast."

She laughs, leaning over the bed to adjust his pillows and bedding. Jack turns away, to the window, and looks through the glass pane to the just-beginning sunset as his heart clenches in his chest. "Not likely," she tells Mark with amusement. "You could always get your friend here to sneak you a treat from the vending machines. But you didn't hear that from me."

"Now there's an idea," Mark chuckles. "Jack, would you be a dear and fetch me some sugary garbage?"

Jack turns, glancing at Mark and seeing his face change when Mark sees the misery on Jack's, and leaves the room. He goes back to the waiting room and finds the vending machines off to the side, partially down a hallway. He fishes out his wallet, feeds a bill into the machine and selects Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (Mark's favourite) three times in a row.

Then he waits, sitting in a chair with his eyes to the floor. Mark will want some time to flirt and Jack is more than willing to be elsewhere while he does. He sighs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands linked together. Jack hates hospitals.

When it's been fifteen minutes Jack stands and makes his way back to Mark's room. He enters and pauses. The nurse is still there at Mark's bedside, gesturing with a manicured hand as she talks. Jack hesitates, but Mark sees him. 

"There you are," Mark says. "Did you take the scenic route?"

"My bills weren't working," is Jack's excuse. "Here." He approaches the bed, tosses the candy onto Mark's lap and steps away until he's at the window again.

"Well, I'll be back in an hour or so," the nurse says. "Hide those if the doctor comes." She goes to the door and, with a backward glance at Mark, leaves.

There's an uncomfortable silence. "Wow, was she ever pretty. Did you get her number?" Jack asks, staring down at the street below.

Mark sighs. "Jack, I..."

"Yes, you did," Jack answers himself. "That's great. Good for you."

"Stop it," Mark says with a groan. 

Jack doesn't bother replying or saying anything further on the subject. "Eat your chocolate, before the doctor comes back." When he doesn't hear the crinkling of a wrapper, Jack glances over his shoulder and catches Mark staring at him sombrely. "I'm a realist, Mark. I know what it means when someone doesn't love me."

"No, Jack--"

"It means they're lookin' for someone else," Jack explains. His hands are clenched so tight at his sides that he feels his short nails carving crescents into his palms. "You should call her."

"Listen to me," Mark urges. "Fuck, would you come here? I feel like I'm yelling."

Reluctantly Jack returns to his seat by Mark's bed. When Mark holds out his hand, Jack submits and takes it in his own.

"Nobody means more to me than you do, besides family," Mark says earnestly. "And it's becoming obvious that I don't know how to show that to you because of our situation. So you need to tell me when something I do hurts you."

_You can hold my hand,_ Jack thinks to himself, _you can sleep with me, and you can tell me these things, but you can't say the words that I know you feel._ "I can't do that," Jack says, his heart in his throat. "Or you'll never find a wife. Don't you want kids? Don't you want a big house with little stomping feet everywhere, someone to wake up with every day? You can't have those if you tiptoe around my feelin's all the time."

"Yes I can," Mark insists. "I can be your best friend and still do that. I can. I'll make it work."

"At your own expense," Jack points out. "You'll wear yourself out tryin' to keep me happy, and someone else too. Face it, Mark. You can't have me, just as much as I can't have you."

"You belong with me," Mark says with feeling. "There's no way I'm letting you go."

"And how will a girlfriend see that?" Jack asks him, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. "Will she be understandin' when you tell her we focked for weeks, and that I love you, and that you can't stand to be without me?" Jack sighs. "How will she feel when she sees how jealous you get when I see other people? You can't explain these things away."

"I'm not letting you go," Mark says again, firmer, with conviction. "Jack, you belong with me. Tell me there's somewhere else you'd rather be."

Jack studies him morosely. "You know I can't."

"Then why are you fighting me on this?" Mark cries. "I'm trying to make you happy!"

"I'll be happy if you just live," Jack says, eyes downcast. "Just live, and be happy yourself. Get married without havin' to worry what it'll do to me. Be the incredible person that you already are, and I'll be happy."

Mark growls low in his throat, a sound of pure frustration. "You are infuriating," he snaps, letting Jack's hand go and flopping back onto his pillows.

With trembling fingers, Jack picks up one of the Reese's from the bed and unwraps it, holding out a cup to Mark. "Gettin' mad at me won't help. Eat your candy."

Grumpily Mark accepts the chocolate but doesn't say anything. They sit like that for a long time, Jack unwrapping the peanut butter cups one by one and giving them to Mark to eat. When all of them are gone, Jack gets up and throws out the wrappers and then hesitates on his way back to his chair.

"I won't bite," Mark says.

"Liar," Jack says, smiling a little as he sits again. "You bit me just last night." He had. Jack has the mark on his thigh to prove it.

Mark sighs. "Don't talk about that when I can't touch you," he requests, grimacing. "Just being near you is making me hot, and I'm stuck in this stupid bed while you're sitting there all gorgeous and sexy."

Jack looks down at himself, skinny and pale, dressed in loose jeans and a hoodie. He looks like a poor college student, or a well-off hobo. "I think you have me confused with someone else," Jack drawls.

Ignoring that, Mark spears him with an intense stare. "Come here," he says, his voice like honey.

Jack bites his lip and Mark hones in on the motion. "You're not in the best shape," he argues. "No shenanigans while you're healin'."

However, Jack himself is perfectly capable of shenanigans. Mark's eyes watch him as he leans back to stretch, reaching his hands over his head and exposing a small strip of skin beneath the hem of his top. "Tease," Mark accuses. "Come here, now."

Grinning, Jack parts his legs and hangs off the back of his chair, using one hand to lightly pull up the front of his hoodie to bare his stomach. He watches Mark's hand twitch as he pushes it up to his chest, past a nipple.

"Get over here," Mark purrs, moving restlessly, "before I rip this shit off of me and come get you myself, you little slut."

Jack stands and places a knee on the mattress beside Mark's thigh. "You're sure I won't kill you?" Jack hazards. "You did have a heart attack."

Mark rolls his eyes and makes grabby hands at him. "I'm tough, now c'mere."

Jack lowers himself slowly until he's lying beside Mark, who moves over to accommodate him on the bed. He slips an arm behind Mark's shoulders and pulls him in close. Mark carefully shifts his IV hand and snuggles up to him, sighing. "I almost forgot how clingy you could be," Jack chuckles, petting Mark's hair. 

"Shut up," Mark says, yawning. "If the nurse comes back tell her I'm gay or something."

"Tell her yourself," Jack smirks, hope rising in his chest and threatening to suffocate him. "I'm ditchin' you the second you try to patsy me."

Grumbling, Mark mutters, "Meanie. I'm just trying to make you happy by letting her off the hook."

Jack stiffens, then forces himself to relax when Mark shifts to look at him. "Don't do that," Jack says, quiet. "I meant it when I said your happiness will give me mine. I want you to be able to do what you want without needin' to check with me first."

"And you should listen when I tell you I don't care about that," Mark huffs. "I just want you with me."

"But you flirt and get numbers all the same," Jack points out. "You're missin' somethin' in your life. And you wont let me fill that spot on my own," Jack adds sadly, "so you have no other choice."

"Yes I do," Mark insists, sitting up and turning to face Jack. "I choose you, over anyone else."

Jack's eyes close on a wave of pain. "If that were true you would be able to say the words," he says, morose. When he opens his eyes, Mark is close.

"Why isn't it enough to have most of me?" Mark asks. "I... care about you, a lot. But I don't have it in me to care any more." His hands cradle Jack's face and he kisses him tenderly. "Why can't that be enough?"

Jack sighs, clinging to Mark's gown with an iron grip. "If you loved someone with everythin' you have, everythin' you are, would you be content with just most of them likin' you back?"

Mark frowns. "I have nothing else to give you, and you want more? I can't, Jack."

"Let's say you start dating the nurse," Jack murmurs. "And she finds out or you tell her everythin' that's happened with us. Do you really think she'd allow me to stick around? She'd want you to get a new assistant, a new housekeeper, a new best friend. Everythin'." _And I would be gone, because you could love her,_ Jack adds to himself, somber. 

"I would just explain that you and I aren't... that we..." Mark searches for the words, looking frustrated.

"That we're not in love, and she has nothin' to worry about because you are incapable of findin' me worthy of it," Jack finishes for him.

"No," Mark says immediately. "Jack, just because I can't... do that, doesn't mean you don't deserve it. You deserve so much," he tells Jack genuinely, kissing him again, slower and longer. Jack hangs on, wrinkling the gown's fabric in his fists. "But I can't give it to you."

"And I can't find it in others," Jack tells him. "So this is all we have. Encounters behind closed doors and imaginary feelin's." 

Mark studies him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I wish I could give you what you want," Mark says softly.

Jack smiles, looking at Mark with his heart in his eyes. "You've given me what I need, and that's you in my life. That's enough."

After a long moment Mark exhales, lying back down against Jack's chest. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Probably committed some sin or another," Jack chuckles, holding him close. "Maybe you killed someone in a past life."

"I was thinking more divine intervention," Mark muses, and Jack's pulse blips erratically. 

"I won't ravish you in a hospital, no matter how much you flatter me," Jack says, his smile widening.

"Not even a handy?" Jack hears the pout in his voice.

"Maybe after the night staff come in," Jack whispers, pressing a kiss to Mark's temple. "Go to sleep, alright? I'll wake you up when the doctor stops by."

"'M not sleepy," Mark yawns. Jack waits, carding his fingers gently through Mark's hair, and before long his breathing evens out and his body relaxes in sleep.

The city outside has long since darkened by the time the doctor comes back, redheaded nurse in tow, to check on Mark's condition. The doctor's face softens when she sees Jack in Mark's bed. "As adorable as this is," she grins, "I need to get at your friend here." 

Flushing, Jack shakes Mark's shoulder, easing him to the side and off Jack's chest. "Up you get, Mark. Doctor's here to see you."

Mark snuffles awake, blinking blearily around the room before turning to Jack as he crawls off the bed and distances himself a few feet from it. "Hey, get back here," he complains.

"You can have him back once I've checked you out," the doctor says, not without amusement. She stands at the bedside, studying the various monitors. She checks Mark's eye dilation and blood pressure, then pats him on the arm when she's finished. "Looks like you're doing fine. There should be no problem getting you out of here tomorrow morning." She turns back to the nurse. "Get him a meal and plenty of water." Smiling at Jack, she exits the room.

Jack glances over at the nurse, who's staring at him uncomprehendingly. Quickly he looks away, saying, "I'm goin' to the washroom." Without a second thought he flees the room.

He finds his way to the washroom and relieves himself, staring hard at the man he sees in the mirror afterwards. He washes his hands and splashes water on his face, then hangs his head over the sink as droplets fall off his nose. 

_I have to step back,_ Jack thinks, _and reevaluate this. Mark needs space to pursue other people, and I need space to... to distance myself from him so he can._ Jack dries his face with paper towel and returns to Mark's room. The nurse is gone.

Mark looks up as he walks in, a smile spreading over his face like a sunrise. "Hey."

Jack takes his seat by the bed. "Hey, sugar bear. Where's the sexy nurse gone to?"

"I gave her the good ol' brush-off," Mark explains, "and after seeing you in my bed with me I don't think she needed much convincing that I wasn't interested."

Jack pauses before saying slowly, "I wish you hadn't done that."

"Knock it off," Mark says, but not unkindly. "I did it because I wanted to. I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"And this helps our codependency how?" Jack asks, sighing. "You're too attached to me. If you want to move on from that, you need to meet more girls and start datin' again."

"Who said I wanted to move on?" Mark says petulantly.

Jack gives him a look. "You know this is goin' to get unhealthy. You can't return my feelin's, and I won't leave your side. We're forcin' our own hands here."

"Well why does that mean we have to stop doing what we're doing?" Mark argues. "We're happy, kind of. Whenever people get added into the mix, one of us loses it. That seems like a bad idea to me."

"That's exactly my point," Jack says. "We get so jealous that we actually can't make new friends, never mind go on dates. You almost killed yourself, Mark," he whispers, pained, "because I saw someone else. This can't go on."

"I didn't mean to--Look," Mark says, his irritation showing, "this isn't as big a problem as you're making it out to be. We just... get jealous. We can make new friends, we just haven't because we have each other."

Looking at him dubiously, Jack relents, "Fine. Then let's make friends, meet people. If you want to prove my point that badly."

Mark faux glares at him. "Alright. But we do it together." When Jack opens his mouth to protest, Mark continues, "Get used to it, Jack. I'm not leaving you behind anymore."

Jack sighs, rubbing his face. "Christ, you are hard to bargain with. You should've been a peddler."

"And deprive the world of my witty words?" Mark smirks, and Jack laughs. Mark's face softens. "Come here. I miss you."

"Tryin' to butter me up," Jack accuses lightly, but he goes nonetheless.

 

"Finally," Mark groans, sitting up eagerly as Felix and Marzia walk into his room in the hospital. "Get me out of here."

Marzia raises an eyebrow. "Have they been torturing you?" she asks, amused.

"May as well have been," Mark says, glowering. "The filth these people call food is an atrocity."

Jack smiles indulgently as he helps Mark stand, and Felix holds out a plastic bag to Jack. "We brought some fresh clothes for the complainer. We'll wait outside while you... help him change." Felix grins toothily and he and his wife step back out of the room.

Mark grins at Jack, wiggling his eyebrows. "Come here and take Daddy's clothes off," Mark purrs.

"You mean Daddy's hospital dress?" Jack asks dryly, untying the knot at Mark's shoulder and pulling the gown off of him, leaving him standing completely bare. He discards the gown on the bed and bends to dig Mark's clothes out of the bag Felix brought.

"Yeah, just like that," Mark says slowly, and Jack turns to see him staring avidly at Jack's butt. He slips away when Mark grabs for him.

"Stop that," Jack laughs. "You're buck-ass naked in a hospital room where anyone can walk in and you think now is the time to try and fondle me?"

"It's always time to fondle you," Mark tells him cheekily. "C'mere, I want some Jackaboy."

Jack throws the boxer briefs in his hand at Mark's face instead. "Put those on. You clearly have the energy." But even with his teasing, Mark is still weak. He stumbles when he lifts his leg to put them on, and Jack comes forward quickly to help. He steadies Mark as he pulls on the underwear and helps him get into his pants as well. He leaves Mark to button his own shirt and collects Mark's phone, wallet and keys from the bedside table. 

Mark takes his hand as they walk out, and when Jack looks up in surprise he says, "Humour me," and lifts their joined hands to kiss Jack's. He doesn't let go, even when he signs himself out. 

In Felix's car, they share the backseat. Marzia turns and peers at them from the passenger seat. "You're sure neither of you proposed, right? You look practically honeymoon-y."

Jack ducks his head and waits for Mark's outburst, but it never comes. "Just eager to be going home," Mark says. "Plus, Jack said he'd make me tacos."

"Only if you behave and keep your hands to yourself," Jack warns, studying Mark intently. He sees no anger, no irritation, not even frustration or grumpiness. Jack heard Marzia right, didn't he? She had said the words "propose," and "honeymoon". But Mark seems completely unaffected, totally at ease.

Mark is doing some looking of his own. "No promises," Mark says, grinning widely. His hand rests on Jack's knee and squeezes. 

Felix shrieks excitedly and cranks the radio when a Backstreet Boys song comes on. "Hoy shit, this is my jam!" he yells, laughing happily and starting to sing along.

Mark immediately turns to Jack, singing in a deep voice, "Although loneliness has always been a friend of mine..." Jack's stomach jumps at the expression on Mark's face, but he joins in as Marzia does too. 

"I'm leavin' my life in your hands," Jack sings, grinning as Mark mock swoons. "People say I'm crazy and that I am blind, riskin' it all in a glance."

"And how you got me blind is still a mystery," Felix crows, "I can't get you out of my head!"

"Don't care what is written in your history as long as you're here with me," Marzia sings, smiling wide.

"I don't care who you are," they all sing loudly, "where you're from, what you did, as long as you love me. Who you are, where you're from, don't care what you did as long as you love me!"

Jack starts laughing uncontrollably as Felix writhes in his seat to the beat of the music in the next verse, which utterly ruins his singing, but he doesn't care.

"Every little thing that you have said and done feels like it's deep within me," Mark warbles, grinning ear to ear as he serenades Jack, making him laugh harder. "Doesn't really matter if you're on the run, it seems like we're meant to be."

"I don't care who you are!" Jack hollers, as they all are now. "Where you're from, what you did, as long as you love me!"

They pull up to the apartment not long after the song finishes, stomachs hurting from laughter and mouths stretched in wide grins. "We should go on tour," Marzia chuckles. "We're obviously star quality."

"I'll make a few calls," Mark muses, easing out of the back seat with Jack's assistance. "Thanks for the ride, guys. Wanna come up and hang out?"

Marzia and Felix share a look. "Next time," Felix says, a cryptic smile on his face. "We'll talk to you later."

"See you," Jack says, and closes the car door. As it drives off, Jack wonders aloud, "They totally know you're goin' to try and jump my bones, don't they?"

"Oh yeah," Mark laughs. "Alright, let's get my ass to some real food. Tacos," Mark says happily.

Jack takes Mark's hand when he reaches out, and leads the way to the open elevator. Jack pushes the button for the fourteenth floor and Mark leans against the back wall, sighing as they watch the number above the door increase. "Heart attacks suck," he says tiredly. "I've never been this wiped out."

"I don't doubt that," Jack agrees. "You look like hell."

Mark chuckles quietly. "Thanks, babe." Jack's heart flutters at the look Mark gives him.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open, revealing Adriana standing there in the hallway. "Oh," she says in surprise. Then, "Mark, you look terrible. What's the matter?"

"Ah, nothing big," he says easily, pushing off the elevator wall and coming forward. "Just a little hospital stay."

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rise. "Goodness. Well, feel better." She pauses thoughtfully. "Want to come over tomorrow sometime? I've got a bottle of champagne with your name on it."

"He can't drink," Jack says immediately, and hears the curtness in his voice. He makes himself say more normally, "Sorry, doctor's orders." 

"What he said," Mark says when Adriana looks at him expectantly, as if Jack hadn't spoken.

She sighs. "Well, alright. See you around." She enters the elevator as they exit, and disappears behind the doors.

Mark turns a sly look on Jack as they walk to the door, Jack pulling out his keys. "You're jealous of Adriana."

"I've been jealous of Adriana since the day I brought you soup," Jack says honestly. "She's a beautiful woman. Rich. Successful." He shrugs, unlocking the door and pushing it open. "Everythin' I'm not."

Mark smiles crookedly. "Yes, she is everything you're not. For one, she's female." He ignores Jack's dry look and continues, "She's cruel to people without money or status. She lies and manipulates to get her way. She has accessories, not friends, and she couldn't love genuinely if she tried."

Jack quirks an eyebrow at Mark, setting him into a barstool and heading to the fridge. "I thought you liked Adriana."

"To a degree," Mark says. "She's made it obvious why she likes me, and it's not my personality. I don't find myself attracted to people who like me only for my body, money and standing."

"No, I bet not," Jack agrees. He sets some vegetables on the counter to be chopped, and hunts in the freezer for ground beef. After that he puts a pan on the stove to heat and grabs a knife from the knife block. "Though, she's very easy on the eyes. I'm sure shallow people like her."

Mark guffaws. "I guess we'll never know."

The kitchen falls silent, aside from the sound of sizzling meat and lettuce being diced. Jack works with his back to Mark, but he still feels those eyes on him. He stirs the ground beef as it browns, seasoning it lightly, then takes the tortillas to the microwave to be heated.

"I feel like I should have offered long before now to help you cook," Mark says pensively, and Jack turns. "It's been like six months since you've started working for me and this whole time I haven't offered once."

"Have you forgotten why you pay me?" Jack chuckles. "I need to do somethin' for you besides take up all your time."

Mark looks him over, grinning. "I could live with that." Jack flushes and quickly turns back to the stove. Mark laughs behind him. "You prude," he chides. "Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't love to be my kept man."

"Tacos are ready," Jack says, swallowing. He sets a plate in front of Mark and the chair beside him and loads everything into separate bowls and places them the island. Jack sits in the stool next to Mark, waiting for him to take his fill before eating. Mark piles his plate with tortilla shells and starts filling them with various toppings, rolling them all up and gorging himself on one after the other. All the while he hums with pleasure, wiggling happily in his seat like a child. Jack hides a smile and makes his own tacos.

When they've finished, Jack stands and takes their plates and the empty serving bowls to the sink, running the hot water and adding soap. He doesn't hear Mark come up behind him but abruptly there's a hand on the small of his back, then it slips around his middle and rests on his abdomen, teasing the hem of his hoodie.

"What happened to you behavin'?" Jack asks, turning to look over his shoulder as Mark presses himself against Jack's back.

"I was to behave while you made tacos, wasn't I?" Mark says, smirking and letting his hands wander. "Now you're doing dishes. Completely fair game."

"Mark," Jack protests, but he tilts his head when Mark presses his mouth to his neck.

Mark spins him, pushing him back against the counter and stepping between his legs to keep him there. He leans in, kissing a trail up Jack's neck to his ear where he nibbles gently on his earlobe. "You were a very naughty boy at the hospital," Mark murmurs, licking a path back down his neck. "Showing off like a little whore."

Jack shivers, bracing himself with his hands on the edge of the counter. "I'd like to see you not do the same when presented with a similar situation," he gets out, then makes a small noise when Mark lifts his hoodie to bare his stomach and drops to his knees, kissing down the path of hair to Jack's jeans.

"You should not be ravishin' me," Jack says, squirming as Mark unfastens his jeans. "You were just discharged from the hospital, for Christ's sake."

"And yet here I am," Mark tells his bellybutton, laving the skin there before tugging his zipper down and nuzzling the hair at his groin.

Jack sighs unevenly, grabbing Mark's head and tilting his face upwards. "Just because you're recoverin' doesn't mean I won't fight you." 

Mark chuckles, standing slowly. He steadies himself on the counter, making Jack frown. "I'm okay," Mark says, catching that look. "Just a bit sore."

"And you were goin' to try and blow me right here in the kitchen," Jack says with mirth. "You really are somethin'." 

"When a man wants nooky, there isn't a lot that can stop him," Mark says. "Post-heart attack appears to be a situation where I can be stopped."

Jack rolls his eyes. "No shit. C'mon, you're goin' to bed."

"No," Mark whines. "I wanna convince you to have sex."

Looking skyward, Jack mutters, "Save me." He turns to Mark and says, "Get to bed and I'll finger you."

Mark's eyes widen, his cheeks flushing with colour. He opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out.

Jack smirks. "Never been much of a bottom, have you?"

"Not even remotely," Mark says, somewhat choked. He's staring at Jack as if he can't believe what he just heard. "Not to say that I haven't gotten fingered before. But that was in college. Everything is different in college."

"Yes," Jack agrees. "I bet no one ate out your ass in college either."

Mark's blush worsens significantly. "Nope," he croaks.

"To bed," Jack orders, grinning, "or you get nothin'."

Immediately Mark turns on his heel and exits the kitchen, heading for the hallway. Jack watches him go to make sure he's steady on his own, then turns to the dishes and rushes through them. He dries his hands, does a quick three-sixty to check that the kitchen is clean, then bolts down the hall and into Mark's bedroom.

Mark is facing away from him laying on the bed, a blanket spread out over his lower half. His chest is bare, and from how low the blanket sits, Jack suspects his legs are too. "Someone is eager," Jack says, making Mark look over.

"Someone said they'd eat out my ass," Mark muses. "You bet I'm fucking eager." He sits up, peering at Jack. "Someone is also very overdressed."

Jack smiles, provocative and slow. He pulls his hoodie off over his head, his shirt with it, and tosses them aside. Mark's eyes glue to him as he slides his hands down his chest, a languorous path down to his jeans which are already unbuttoned and unzipped. Jack eases his pants down until they drop to pool at his ankles, then slips his fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and slips it down to sit low on his hips, exposing a generous amount of his groin.

"Tease," Mark groans. "Get that fine ass over here. And ditch those gitchies." 

Jack laughs, slipping his underwear off and getting onto the bed. He sits by Mark, pulling off his blanket--he is indeed naked--before he reaches to brush Mark's hair off his face. Mark gives him a soft look. "Now, how would you like this to go?" Jack asks, stretching his arms up over his head. "I'm at your disposal."

Mark averts his gaze. "The ass-eating is a prime contender. But, also..."

When Mark doesn't continue, Jack shuffles forward and cups his cheek with a hand. "I'll do anythin'. Ask me."

Exhaling, Mark says, "Fuck me."

Jack shivers as a frisson travels up his spine. "Yes. Yeah, I can do that."

"I thought you might say that," Mark chuckles, but then he looks uneasy. "Look, I--"

"I got it, Mark," Jack says, leaning in and kissing him soundly. "You've placed your ass in fine hands."

"It's not your hands I'm worried about," Mark says, glancing at Jack's semi-erection.

Jack grins widely. "Just you wait. You'll be worshippin' my cock by the time we're through."

"Alright," Mark sighs, "I did ask for it."

"Lie back," Jack murmurs, kissing him again and easing him backwards to lay on the pillows. Mark goes, if stiffly, and Jack follows, kneeling over him with his hands on either side of Mark's head. He lowers himself for another kiss, licking his way into Mark's mouth and biting at his lips. Mark places a hand on either side of his neck, smoothing and tickling the skin there as he leans up into the kiss.

After a moment Jack pulls away, sitting back and positioning himself between Mark's legs. Mark looks at him, the trepidation plain on his face.

"Do you trust me?" Jack asks him.

"With my life," Mark answers, swallowing.

Jack smiles, stroking his inner thighs and gently easing his legs apart. "Then trust me." He leans down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the head of Mark's cock, making it twitch with interest and dragging a surprised noise out of Mark. Jack fills his mouth, sinking down until he meets resistance at the back of his throat, and rises again while working his tongue against the underside.

Mark sighs, a happy little noise, and Jack feels him relax back onto the pillows. His legs lose a bit of tension, and he pets Mark's thigh as he goes down again. He sets a slow pace for bobbing while his tongue massages hungrily at Mark's frenulum. Mark huffs out a short breath, his stomach jumping, when Jack slides down and deep throats Mark's cock all the way to the base.

"Fucking hell," Mark moans, staring. "Where did you learn to do that?" Jack hums in response, low in his throat. Mark gasps and trembles, giving a short breathless laugh as Jack starts moving and continues to hum. "Jesus Christ," Mark says, smiling weakly. "You weren't kidding. I am in good hands."

Jack pulls off him and chuckles, wiping his mouth. "Told you." He leans over to open the bedside table drawer, instantly seeing the well-used bottle of lube and... no condoms. He frowns.

Mark half sits up to rest on his elbows. "What is it?"

"We're out of condoms," Jack tells him.

"Shit," Mark says with feeling. Then, hesitantly, "I... don't mind if you don't."

Jack looks at him, smiling. "As if either of us have sex with anyone else anyway."

"You've got a point there," Mark says, laying back again. 

Jack repositions at Mark's hips and takes him into his mouth once more, going for sloppy and fast as opposed to slow and deep. Mark's soon making all these tiny sounds, a breath escaping, a barely-there moan, Jack's name spoken quietly. He pauses long enough to coat his fingers in lube, then says softly, "Look at me, baby."

Mark looks at him, half-dazed with a small smile on his face. Gently Jack presses a fingertip to Mark's ass, a small rubbing pressure, and Mark bites his lip but doesn't break eye contact. Jack pushes then, his finger breaching to the first knuckle, then the second. Mark closes his eyes and turns his face away, his shoulders hunching. 

"I've got you," Jack promises, retracting his finger only to push it back in a little farther. Mark peeks at him, red in the face. "Yeah, you know I've got you. I won't do anythin' you don't want. You say the word and I'll blow you until you see stars." He pauses, wriggling his finger inside Mark, searching, and watches his face change when Jack finds what he's looking for. "But you won't," Jack continues, smiling. "You'd rather die than tell me right now, that you like me bein' the one in charge. It's okay. I won't tell a soul." He withdraws his finger and pushes slowly back in with two, and Mark arches his back. 

Jack watches him as he moves his hand, watches the way Mark sighs shakily whenever Jack gives his prostate a hard stroke. Leaning down Jack takes Mark into his mouth and Mark murmurs his name, a small groan passing his lips.

"You're going to kill me," Mark tells him unsteadily when Jack deep throats him again, and again, and again. "God, Jack." His head tips back on another shaky sigh.

Jack has one last suck before letting Mark's cock drop from his mouth. "I'm glad to hear it," Jack chuckles, placing a firm hand at Mark's hip and increasing his penetrating hand's speed. He separates his fingers as he moves, stretching Mark out and studying his face intently, drinking in his expressions and sounds. 

Mark slaps a hand over his mouth to contain whatever noise he was about to make when Jack adds a third finger and starts finger fucking him in earnest. Jack presses kiss after kiss to Mark's thighs, then when Mark's legs start to shiver he drags his teeth along the sensitive flesh and bites him gently. Mark cries out, his hand muffling the sound. 

"You're doin' so good, baby," Jack purrs, and Mark makes a quiet whimpering sound. "Look at you. You're practically screamin' to have my cock inside you, aren't you, Mark? You're so ready for me, so eager." Mark moves his hand away and gasps, groaning heavily when Jack massages his prostate. "You want me to fill you up?"

Mark nods hurriedly, his eyes closed and his mouth open on a silent moan. Jack smiles, pulling his hands away and shifting forward on his knees until he's lined up with Mark's hips. Mark's eyes open and his face reddens when he meets Jack's gaze. Jack leans down and kisses him languidly, pressing Mark down into the bed with his body. His hips move in a circle, brushing their cocks together and making Mark's breath catch. 

"Say it," Jack whispers, kissing his way down Mark's throat and sucking on the side of his neck. "Tell me what you want."

"Fuck me," Mark moans, writhing beneath him. "Jack, please, I..."

Jack quiets him with another kiss, adjusting his hips and guiding himself to Mark's ass. "Don't clench, okay, baby? Just relax, I'll go slow."

Mark nods again, staring down between them as Jack eases the head of his cock just inside. When Jack wraps a hand around his cock and starts pumping, Mark's head falls back and his chest heaves out a harsh, jerky breath. Jack grips his hip with his other hand, gyrating his hips slightly and slowly pushing forward. Mark clenches the pillow on either side of his head and moans when Jack finally slides in all the way, his groin pressed flush to Mark.

Jack kisses Mark's closed eyes, easing back before pushing in again. "How're you doin'?"

Mark makes a noise of assent, squinting his eyes open. "I'm still alive," Mark says unsteadily. He stares up at Jack, something like wonder in his eyes. 

Jack's stomach swoops at that look. He grinds a little harder into Mark, setting both hands on his hips and pulling Mark to meet him with each thrust. Mark's chin tips upward and he groans, hands reaching for Jack and finding his shoulder. His grip is nearly painful but Jack can't find it in him to care.

Soon Mark is moaning rhythmically, Jack pounding into him without remembering having had the conscious thought to get rough. Mark's body is arched up, his hands clawing at Jack's ribs and his bottom lip chewed red. _He doesn't seem to mind rough,_ Jack thinks to himself with amusement. 

"Fuck, fucking fuck," Mark gasps when Jack angles his hips up and makes Mark's body throb around him. Jack, seeing that he's found the money spot, lifts Mark's hips and stuffs a pillow beneath him. Without pausing Jack readjusts and keeps going, feeling the sweat trickle down his back.

When Mark starts shoving himself back onto Jack's lap, his moans get louder and longer and Jack notices the trembling in his arms and legs. "Look at me," Jack commands, snapping his hips forward and making Mark cry out. Mark turns his eyes on him, clouded with lust. "Come for me," Jack says, grabbing Mark's cock and jerking it roughly. Mark tosses his head back and smothers his scream with his hand, his body convulsing and his cock spurting all over their stomachs. 

Jack grins, rolling his hips and moving his hand until Mark begs, "Please, I--" and Jack lets him go, giving two hard thrusts and quickly pulling out. He comes hard on Mark's belly with a gasping moan, shaking with the force of it. He falls forward, panting and barely missing landing on Mark. He rolls onto his back with a long exhale.

"Jesus fucking Christ on a bicycle," Mark says at length, when they've caught their breaths. "No wonder you could never tell me no, even when I deserved it."

Jack looks over at him with a smile. "That's not why and you know it." He wants to say the words, but he doesn't want to ruin the moment. Mark put a lot of trust in him to do this and he can't sour the memory.

Mark turns on his side, leaning his head into his hand and studying Jack. "Why haven't you asked to do that before?"

"Because you would've said no," Jack shrugs, and Mark's brow lowers. "Don't deny it, you know you wouldn't have agreed. Especially not recently."

"No," Mark sighs, "I guess not."

Jack strokes a hand down Mark's chest, pensive. "I get it, if this is just an occasional thing."

Mark looks surprised. "Why would it be? You fucked my brains out."

"I guess I just assumed you weren't into takin' it as much as you were givin' it," Jack says. "You're a pretty dominant person."

"I am," Mark agrees, "but for the right guy it looks like I can enjoy being submissive."

Heart fluttering pleasantly, Jack smiles. "Aw, sweetie."

Mark grins. "Hey now, don't think this means I'll go easy on you at Mario Kart."

"That's alright, I'll still kick your ass in Overwatch," Jack smirks.

Mark smiles at him, his expression softening. Jack ignores the silly feeling he gets in his gut at that look. Mark is just post-sex happy, nothing more. When Mark takes his hand and plays with his fingers, kissing his palm and then moving up his wrist and forearm, Jack tells himself it's just his cuddly side coming out because he's lonely. Mark threads their fingers together and looks at him like he's something precious, and Jack's heart seizes.

"You're awfully affectionate," Jack says, staring at their hands instead of at Mark.

"Tell me you love me," Mark says without hesitation, and Jack's head snaps up. Mark smiles at him. "Tell me, I want to hear it."

"You... want to hear it," Jack repeats, shocked. 

Mark cups Jack's face in his hands, pulling him forward to kiss him tenderly. His lips brush Jack's, so briefly it's almost teasing. "Say it," Mark whispers into his mouth.

_Unbelievable,_ Jack thinks stupidly as Mark kisses him. He loops his arms around Mark's neck, pulling him to hover over Jack. He prolongs the kiss, opens his mouth and draws Mark in by licking at his lips. Mark goes eagerly, bears his weight down onto Jack and, ignoring the slippery smear of cum across both their stomachs, dips his tongue into Jack's mouth.

When they pull apart, Jack says quietly, "I love you, so much." He holds his breath, looks up into Mark's face and sees the response of his words. Mark's cheeks go pink, his eyes dilate just slightly, and his mouth curves up into a small smile.

"I adore you," Mark tells him gingerly, almost stumbling over the words. "More than anyone, anything." His voice resonates through Jack like a recurring wave, making him shiver. "I lo..." Mark tries, then stops, and so does Jack's heart.

Jack waits, his pulse erratic, and when Mark doesn't continue he says, "You don't have to force yourself to say it. It's okay, I know you don't--"

Mark silences him with a fierce kiss, licking into his mouth and devouring him. "Let me say it," Mark pants when they part. 

"Can you?" Jack asks, staring into his eyes. "You can hear me say it, but do you feel it? Or are you just sayin' it because you think you should?"

Mark's brow tilts and he murmurs, "I don't know. I... I can't do without you anymore. I can't. When you said in the hospital that we should start trying to see other people, I didn't like the idea of you being with someone else. But when I actually thought about it, I didn't like the idea of me being with someone else either. Being without you, and everything we have." Mark shrugs, offering a smile. "You tell me what that means."

Jack lets out a breath, looking down at the bedsheets. "It sounds a lot like love. But... you've said yourself, just yesterday, that you don't have anythin' but affection for me. You insisted."

"I've been wrong before," Mark says easily, toying with the hair at Jack's nape. "For a long while now I've been convincing myself that I couldn't care for you more than a close friend because you're not at all what I usually go after. You're a man, for one. You like to push me when I'm already on the edge, you encourage me when I'd rather give up." Mark traces the shell of his ear, and Jack swats at his hand. Mark smiles. "But then there's all the things you do that I couldn't find anywhere else. You smother me with adoration when I don't deserve it, even when you're yelling at me. You withstand my temper, and dish it as good as you take it. I don't know what I'd do without you, now that you've been here for so long. You have a piece of me that I can never take back."

Smiling wetly, Jack says thickly, "Then say it. Tell me."

Mark swallows, looking into his eyes. His lips press together and he sighs through his nose as if psyching himself up. His hand's find Jack's and link their fingers, squeezing hard. As Mark gazes at him, he must see something in Jack's face, in his eyes, because his whole visage relaxes at once. And then he murmurs with a smile on his face, "I love you." And Jack knows he means it.

 

"Mark, have you seen my cufflinks? I just had them," Jack grumbles, lifting items and searching across the vanity and both dressers. "I swear, I literally just--"

"Grab some of my extra ones, they're in the top drawer of the tall dresser," Mark says while tying his bowtie in the standing mirror. "The diamond ones would look good."

Jack gives him a dry look. "I'm not wearin' diamond cufflinks. That's just askin' for me to lose the stupid things." He adjusts his tuxedo as he pulls out a pair of white gold cufflinks, tugging his sleeves down to fasten them on. He glances over his shoulder to his boyfriend, now fussing over his hair. "Babe, stop it. You look gorgeous."

Mark grunts. "Shut up. My bangs are flipping their shit like a fucking fifteen-year-old girl at a Twenty-One Pilots concert."

Sighing, Jack walks over and moves Mark's hands out of the way. He licks his fingertips and plucks at the wayward strands of his hair, smoothing and taming them to lay flat. "Did you get that article finished?"

"Yes, dear," Mark chuckles fondly, placing a hand over Jack's heart, fiddling with his lapels. "I wonder how late we'll be."

"Very, if you don't keep your hands to yourself, buster," Jack tells him sternly. He takes Mark by the shoulders. "Your hair looks perfect--you're welcome. You are a handsome, sexy screenwriter going to his first award show with his equally handsome and sexy but untalented boyfriend. Now let's go." Jack snags Mark's hand as it goes to touch his hair and pulls him from the bedroom. "And I don't want any funny business in the limo, either."

"You'll be lucky if your underwear stays on," Mark teases, bending at the front door to put on his shined-to-a-sparkle dress shoes. "Nice little speech, by the way. I'm feeling very enthused."

Jack quirks his mouth. "I'm not the writer, you are," he says. He slips on and ties his own dress shoes and stands. "I'm only here for comedic relief and butt touchin'."

"And here I thought it was overwhelming adoration keeping you here," Mark laughs. They leave the apartment, locking the door behind them, and call the elevator. Mark sends him a sideways glance as they wait. "Thank you for coming. I know you didn't want to."

"I never said that," Jack argues.

"You didn't have to," Mark says with a shrug. "I know you don't like crowds, especially rich people crowds."

"Well, this isn't about me, it's about you. You asked me to go and I'm goin'." Jack lifts his head when Mark approaches him. "Hey, you stay over there. I don't trust you."

Mark smiles charmingly. "Liar." He backs Jack up into the wall next to the elevator and takes Jack's face in his hands. "What a little treasure you are."

Jack blushes and Mark's smile widens. "Get away, you pervert," Jack says without heat, putting his hands on Mark's hips.

"Hmm," Mark hums thoughtfully, leaning down for a tender kiss, his fingers caressing Jack's jaw. "Someone's getting flustered. I wonder why?" He kisses Jack again, deeper this time with teeth and tongue. 

When Mark pulls back, Jack's lips are swollen from his attentions. "What did I say about fondlin' me?"

"You said no funny business in the limo," Mark recites innocently. "We are not in a limo."

"Your literalism is goin' to get you in some hot fockin' water one of these days," Jack gripes, easing out of Mark's arms and dashing into the now open elevator. Mark saunters in after him, a calculated stride. Jack eyes him warily. 

Mark pushes the button for the ground floor and turns on Jack, shoving him up against the elevator wall and pinning him there with his body. "I need you all the time," Mark groans, bending to kiss Jack again. "Like an itch I can never stop scratching." His lips mould to Jack's, a firm, moist pressure that makes Jack's knees turn to Jell-O.

"You should get that checked," Jack gasps as Mark bites down his neck. "Don't you dare leave any marks, I will kill you if I get photographed with a ragin' hickey."

Mark laughs quietly into his neck, nuzzling the skin there. "Yes, dear." For a long moment he holds Jack close, silent and still.

Jack sighs, pulling back to look at Mark. "Stop that mopin'. You're goin' to do great."

The elevator opens to the lobby and Mark is forced to let Jack go. They disembark, Mark taking Jack's hand as they cross the lobby. Mark opens the front doors and chilled night air rushes up to meet them as they step outside and into their waiting limousine. 

As Jack settles in, the dividing window slips open. "Evening, Mr. Fischbach," greets the driver politely. "Mr. McLoughlin. Shall we go?"

"Please," Mark replies. The driver nods, sliding the window shut and then the limo pulls away from the curb. Mark looks over at Jack, a glint in his eye.

"Oh, no," Jack says instantly, warding off that look with a pointed finger. "Don't you dare come over here. I'm watchin' you, Fischbach. Like a hawk. They call me Eagle Eye I'm so sharp."

Undeterred, Mark crosses the space between their seats and easily insinuates himself to straddle Jack's lap. "I love limousines," Mark sighs, leaning down.

"Mm," Jack says, his mouth already occupied with Mark's. Mark laves his tongue along Jack's lips, a slow stroke, and then nibbles on the lower one. He rests his hands on Jack's shoulders lightly, but Jack notices his intentions a moment too late. With a full-body motion Mark grinds his ass down onto Jack's lap using him as leverage. They both gasp, Mark in pleasure and Jack in surprise (and pleasure).

"Mark," Jack snaps, even as Mark does it a second time. "Quit fockin' ridin' me like a slut and get back to your own goddamn seat. Unh," he adds when Mark rolls his hips down again, hard.

"I like this seat so much better," Mark says breathlessly, rocking himself on Jack's groin to great effect. When Jack tips his head back against the seat, Mark leans forward and licks a long line up his throat.

"Mark," Jack says again, much less force behind it. "We absolutely cannot have sex in this limo. We will show up to the carpet with cum stains and rumpled tuxes and everyone under the sun will know what shenanigans we had ourselves."

Looking down at him with half-lidded eyes, Mark pauses and growls, "Good. I want everyone to know who you belong to. I want everyone to see what I do to you."

Jack flushes, then says indignantly, "But not tonight, for fock's sake! You're already takin' a man as your date, don't add fuel to the publicity fire. Patricia will kill us both."

Sighing, Mark leans back and studies Jack. "You make a good point. Damn, and I'm hard, too."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I know we're both afraid of Patricia," Jack says. "I'd rather make love tonight after you win anyway."

Mark smiles easily, his cheeks pink and his eyes ablaze with passion. "It's a date," he says.

"Tonight." Jack whispers it, like a promise, and Mark's smile is blinding. 

"Tonight," Mark agrees, kissing him once more.

When Mark returns to his seat, Jack hides his own smile. He wouldn't say it out loud, but to him, "tonight" sounds just a little bit like forever.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: okay! So it's been bugging me for a while that this fic has been sitting ignored by me with glaring issues, such as the fact that I never intended it to come across as Mark being in any way abusive. What I had originally aimed for was a lot of tension, and Mark suppressing his feelings and definitely lashing out and acting inappropriately, but I _never_ wanted abuse to be a part of the story. Aside from small changes here and there, I wanted to try and change the overall tone of everything a little, less abusive (several people have informed me it comes across as way too abusive/controlling in some parts) and just more tense, I guess? I have no idea if I even did that, but, I tried. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, especially now that I've done a genuine edit, but I'm a poor tenderhearted thing, be gentle


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